


Quaffing Wormwood and Gall

by daoinhe



Series: Leuchtkäfer [3]
Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Blood and Violence, Drug Addiction, M/M, Multi, Other, Past Drug Use, Past Rape/Non-con, Rape Fantasy, Self-Hatred
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-02
Updated: 2020-10-21
Packaged: 2021-02-28 16:33:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 13
Words: 35,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23450254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/daoinhe/pseuds/daoinhe
Summary: This is a continuation of To Tame a Firefly.  Heavy stuck with me for some reason, wanting his story to be told.  So, here is the beginning, Heavy going to a new base, meeting a new team, while still being haunted by the old ones.
Series: Leuchtkäfer [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1677595
Comments: 27
Kudos: 68





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> wormwood and gall. a source of bitter mortification and grief. literary. Gall is bile, a substance secreted by the liver and proverbial for its bitterness, while wormwood is an aromatic plant with a bitter taste. The dictionary definition of wormwood and gall. 
> 
> I searched for quite a while for a name for this story, and at last settled here. I like this name. It's very apocalyptic and honestly, so is Dima's life right now. 
> 
> Please, take note of the tags and remember, if you are easily triggered, do not read this work. If any of the tags above are triggers for you, do not read this work. If you see any tags that I have missed, please tell me so I can fix that. 
> 
> This story is dark, dark, dark. I would like to think that it is also good, a story of eventual redemption, but I'm not sure as it's not finished yet. 
> 
> As always, a huge thank you to Distasty for reading this and for dealing with my three am panic attacks over it. :)

Dimitri sat in the front seat of the car and leaned his head against the glass. The desert landscape rolled by outside, but the car’s interior was arctic. Dimitri sighed and glanced down at his hands. Those huge hands, folded so meekly in his lap, only a faint tremble noticeable if one were to observe closely. And the driver of this car was not paying any attention to him whatsoever. The clunking air conditioner only accounted for half the chill inside the vehicle. 

Dimitri looked over at the petite dark haired woman behind the wheel and finally, summoning up his nerve, he cleared his throat. “Ms. Pauling?” At the question in the big man’s voice, she took her eyes off the road for a second, shooting a quick unfriendly glance at him and then turning her eyes back to the road. “I thank you for giving me second chance. Is sorry, Ms. Pauling. Sorry for mess.” 

Ms. Pauling sighed, her breath a frosty gust of air. “Heavy, I’m not the one who gave you that chance.” Her voice hardened even more if that were possible. “If it was up to me, you would be laying in an unmarked grave in the desert. Preferably, alive.” She sighed. “You have the Pyro to thank for this. That and the fact that men of your,” She paused for a moment, thinking of the words she wanted to use, “Stature and skill set,” she paused again, “Are difficult to come by.” She glanced away from the road again. “You have no idea how lucky you are that I’m just putting you on a train and sending you to another base, do you?”

Heavy sat in silence, eyes on his hands. Slowly, he began to pull at a small strip of flesh beside his thumb. “No.” His voice was barely audible inside the car. “I don’t remember things. Some, yes, some no.” He shook his head. “BLU Spy says will come back with time.” He groaned suddenly, a low tortured sound like a wounded animal. “I do not know if I want to remember. What I already remember is terrible.” The small strip of flesh finally came free in a little burst of pain and he stared down at the bright red bead of blood, bright red like the rubber suit their Pyro wore. He shook his head as an image of his fist coming down over and over onto that suit and that Pyro slid into his mind. With a muttered oath in thick Russian, he turned back to the window. There was silence in the car until they arrived at the train station.

  
Heavy exited the train two days later, tired and stiff, sore from being crammed into seats designed for people half his size, cranky from lack of sleep and lack of movement and boredom and ennui. The trip had been pure torture, a chance to dwell on his past, his fall from grace. He groaned, his mind wanting to lose itself in the blissful highs he’d known for the past three years even though his body no longer craved the Medic’s little white pills and syringes full of heroin. He straightened his back. He was past all that. No more days lost; nights spent in a haze of drugged pleasure at the expense of others. He was clean. And being clean was the first step to amending his past wrongdoings. 

Heavy looked around the empty train station, his luggage, a single duffle bag, resting on the ground beside him. He muttered under his breath, a steady stream of Russian. It was two A.M., he did not know how to get to the next base, and it was cold here. He blew out his breath, expecting to see steam and was surprised when that did not occur. Finally, he walked to a bench and sat, his ass already numb from the train ride protesting as he settled onto the hard wooden surface. Perhaps, he thought to himself, Ms. Pauling had not told them he was coming? Surely even as much as she hated him, she would not be that petty? Heavy glanced up as hard soled shoes tapped across the concrete floor. That must be the Spy he thought to himself, eyes taking in the slender man, balaclava pulled down over his face, suit immaculate, thick winter coat thrown over one arm. He stepped forward, one hand out. “You must be Heavy.” He smiled as Heavy’s hand closed over his, shaking carefully. “I am Spy. I apologize for my lateness, but I ran over a nail on the way here. The tire was flat. I had to change it.” He stopped speaking and smiled again, a trace of apology in the smile.

“Is fine. We go now?” Heavy automatically fell into the broken speech he’d used for years to keep Medic from knowing how much English he understood. He gripped the handle of his duffle bag and slung it over his shoulder. Spy nodded and turned to walk off, slowing his steps to allow the laden down man to keep up with him. 

“Of course. The car is this way.” He walked off into the darkness of the empty lot and Heavy followed, eyes wide and searching for danger. He did not think they would be attacked in an empty parking lot, but old habits die hard. Heavy snorted to himself. Old habits. He thought back to the week he’d spent, sweating and shivering, delusional and out of control, locked into an empty room on BLU base as their Medic dealt with the aftermath of his addiction. As he’d sweated and screamed, often doubled over in agony, not sure if he would live or die, that man had stood beside him, showing no fear, a cool cloth smoothing over his forehead, the low murmur of his voice the only thing keeping Heavy sane. Reaching the car, he threw his bag into the back and folded himself into the front passenger seat. Spy started the vehicle and they pulled out into the night.

Their arrival at the base was disappointingly without incident. The huge concrete structure was dark when they pulled into the garage and Spy parked, then turned off the ignition. “I’m sure that everyone will be looking forward to meeting you in the morning.” It was the first he’d spoken since they left the train station. “If you grab your things, I will show you to your room and we can all sleep for a few hours.”

Heavy pulled his duffle out of the back and threw it over his shoulder, looking forward to a soft bed and a chance to stretch out. He groaned as his back cracked, then followed Spy deeper into the new base. He tried to memorize the twists and turns of the corridors before he realized that the layout was the same as the last, at that point he relaxed and simply followed where he was led. 

It was not long before they stopped in front of a door with his class symbol on it, Spy showed him how to work the lock and he was inside. He looked around the room. A simple bed and a table, a cabinet for stowing weapons, and a closet. The room was standard issue, that much was certain. No signs of the previous occupant, and no way of finding out why the man had left. He dropped his bag onto the floor and sat on the bed, noting the hardness of the mattress. His back was going to be killing him. He bent over and unlaced his boots, sitting them neatly side by side, then removing his socks, he rolled them up and tucked them neatly inside his boots. Memory slid over him, the Pyro, doing the same for him, and he covered his face with one large hand, stifling a sudden sob. With a groan, he tried to suppress the memory, and the memory of what came after, but in the silent darkness of the base, it was impossible. He pressed his fingers against his eyelids so hard that he saw white spots blooming in the darkness. 

That damned Medic, he thought to himself. Those damned pills. Damn me. He sighed and removed his shirt, flopping back onto the bed with his pants still on. “No one forced you to take the drugs.” In the stillness of the room, his hushed voice echoed against the walls. “No one forced you to rape her. Or to rape Scout. No one forced you, Dima.” With a weary sigh, he closed his eyes and prayed for dreamless sleep. 

***  
Morning came with, of all things, birdsong. Heavy lay still for a moment, staring up at the strange ceiling, trying to orient himself. New base. Gorse, Gorge, something like that. They had told him the name, but he was not listening. A base is a base, he’d thought at the time and now he found himself in a strange state, in a strange base, surrounded by strangers. It’s only what you deserve, he thought. You did this. You forced the Administrator’s hand and got yourself transferred. And now you want to complain that you don’t know where you are? You’ve spent the past three years fighting and not known where you were over half the time. Suck it up, as Scout would say. At the thought of the boy, he groaned and sat up on the edge of the bed, reaching for his socks and boots. 

He found his way through the halls with no problem, arriving at the large dining room in what looked like time for breakfast. Stepping through the doors, he was met by a sudden cessation of chatter as everyone turned to look at him. Suddenly, a short man in a hard hat, must be the Engineer, he thought to himself, bounced up from the table and toward him. A hand was immediately stuck in front of him and a warm southern drawl enveloped him. 

“Hey there, you must be the new Heavy. I’m Engineer. Engie is just fine, though. Saves two syllables.” The man’s grin was wide enough to split his face in two. “You want something to eat? I made bacon and eggs this morning. And pancakes.” The grin widened, if possible. “Heavies like to eat, am I right?” He led the way around the table to a large kitchen, counter tops covered with plates of food. “I didn’t know what you would like, so I made a little bit of everything.” He pointed to different drawers and cupboards. “Plates up there, silverware here. Glasses over the sink and we have milk, OJ, and coffee. You get what you want and come on back to the table. We’ll wait on ya.”

Heavy filled his plate and walked back into the room. Introductions were made and Heavy looked around the table at the unfamiliar faces. Names to faces wouldn’t be a problem, not with class emblems on everyone’s clothing. He sighed, that was a relief at least, having to memorize eight new people on top of sobriety was a bit much. 

“Now that we are all here,” this was the Soldier speaking, “I shall take the opportunity to orient you to your new base, soldier. Meals are not served at regular hours, other than dinner. Dinner is two hours after each battle. We all take turns cooking; you have been placed at the end of the roster and will not have to worry about it for eight weeks. When it is your turn, you cook what you want, and if no one wants to eat, there are sandwich fixings in the fridge.” He looked pointedly at the Scout. “Some of us have weak stomachs.” 

Scout immediately spoke up from his end of the table. “Hey, I do not! I just ain’t eatin’ beans and whatever the hell kind of mystery meat you serve for 7 days in a row, Solly.” The boy kicked at the table leg, eyes on the Soldier.

Heavy waited for him to be slapped, but everyone just chuckled and ignored him. Heavy’s eyes widened in surprise, but he kept the thoughts rushing around inside his head to himself. 

“Everyone is expected to do their own laundry. I will give you a tour of the laundry facility later, and Battle is at 0800 sharp.” He grinned savagely. “Battle days end when we have whupped those BLU bastards back to their own base. That is why dinner is two hours after battle, not at a set time.” He looked at Heavy. “Do you have any questions?” 

Heavy shook his head and looked down at his plate, cutting a sausage with his fork and gingerly placing it into his mouth. His eyes widened in surprise as flavor burst over his tongue. This was actually very good, he thought to himself. Looking over at the Engineer, he smiled his gratitude. The small man grinned back at him, then dug into his own plate. 

After the meal and an extensive tour of the base, courtesy of Soldier, Heavy was told that, since it was not a battle day, he could do as he wished. Heavy nodded and asked to see the battlefield. Soldier led him to it and Heavy began to walk the field. The Soldier followed him for a brief time, but after about a half hour of seemingly aimless wandering on Heavy’s part, he excused himself and returned to the base.

Left to his own devices, Heavy wandered the field for the better part of the afternoon, kicking at piles of scrap and learning all the ins and outs of this new base. He took note of all the chokepoints, the places where one could be flanked and finally, satisfied with his ability to navigate while under the stress of combat, he sat down on a narrow set of steps outside a small building and gazed up at the sky. The blue was nothing like the shade seen in the desert. There, it was a tired looking, dusty blue. Here, the color was as rich and deep as Medic’s eyes. Warmer though. Heavy sighed. Even in the middle of an ice storm, the sky would be warmer than that man’s eyes. He leaned back on his elbows, watching the white clouds drift by far overhead. It was nearly evening by his reckoning, and he didn’t know what to do. He could go back to the base and be surrounded by the chatter of strangers or he could hide in his room. He could stay out here, never go back inside again. He snorted at the notion and the sound startled the approaching Scout so badly that he let out a yelp and jumped nearly five feet into the air. 

When the Scout landed, he placed a hand to his chest, bent over and started laughing so hard that Heavy thought he was going to choke. “Oh man,” he wheezed eventually, “You scared the hell outta me, buddy. Nobody ever told me that Heavy’s could be quiet.” He was laughing again and Heavy looked at him, smiling in puzzlement, unsure why his fear was so amusing to the young man. At last, he spoke. “I am sorry, Scout. Did not mean to scare.” 

The Scout was laughing again, the sound ringing over the battlefield. Heavy could feel his spirits lift a bit at the sound. The boy sounded so young. Had his Scout ever sounded like that? Heavy tried to remember and suddenly his mood came crashing down around him again. He had. Before Medic and he had… he shut that thought off abruptly. He was not going to think about it. He looked at the Scout and to distract himself, found his mouth opening. “Why are you here?” 

Scout shrugged like it was the most commonplace thing in the world, to follow a strange man into a desolate and isolated place, without even, Heavy double checked visually, without even a weapon. “I do not need company.” The thought of simply grabbing the Scout, fucking him to death and sending him through respawn flitted through his mind. He turned his back suddenly, closing his eyes. He could feel slender wrists in his hands, the struggles that would follow. He could imagine how it would be to hold the boy down, invade that tight heat, the relief that would follow. He dropped his voice, a low growl issuing from his throat. “Go, little man, if you know what is good for you.”

Behind him, Scout’s eyes widened, and his hands flew up in the air, protesting. “Whatever man, Jeez, try to be friendly.” The patter of his feet faded into the distance before Heavy would allow himself to turn and look in the direction the boy had gone. Slowly he walked back to base, weighed down by the pressure of unshed tears behind his eyes.

***  
Dinner was a noisy affair on this base. There didn’t seem to be any order to it, everyone just grabbed a plate and took what they wanted, no hierarchy to be seen. Heavy stood back, watching, plate in hand. He was so used to waiting that it had become second nature. On the old base, Medic ate first, taking his pick of whatever was cooked, or demanding something made especially for him as the mood struck him. He was leaning up against the wall, his plate held at his side, when this base’s Medic approached him. 

The man was smiling. The smile lit up his eyes, made him seem warm and friendly. “Hello.” A hand was held out, the offer to shake being made. “I’m Medic.” He chuckled, his voice light as he waited for Heavy to take his hand. “I didn’t get to meet you this morning, I was working on reports in the clinic. I’m sorry.” 

Heavy took the extended hand and shook it, surprised at the calloused texture of the palms and fingers. I am Heavy Weapons Guy. Heavy.” He released the hand, watching as Medic dropped it to his side. “When does fighting start?” He glanced away, not wanting to let this new Medic see how his insides were tying themselves into knots of anxiety at the thought of close contact with Medigun fumes again. That had been where the problem started last time. Heavy closed his eyes, remembering that earlier time, how his own medic had offered to use the Medigun after hours to ease the ache in his back, his feet. How that had led to the offer of a sleep aid, and then to pain medications that were not on RED’s approved list. He shook his head, wondering if there was a way to refuse to fight with this man without breaching contract. When the kitchen had cleared a bit, he took his plate and filled it, then looked over at the table. The only open seat was between Scout and Medic. He frowned at them both, drawing odd looks from those watching, and carried his plate to his room.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first battle after rehab does not go well...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to Distasty for being my sounding board, my go to, my moral support...

When the alarm sounded, Heavy rolled over and slammed his fist down onto it, silencing it’s shrillness. The lingering remnants of his dreams, more nightmares than dreams, clung to him like a miasma of rot. He groaned and slapped a hand over his forehead. In the dream, he’d been inside Scout, blood pooling as his cock thrust in and out, piston like, causing ever more damage until the boy’s body had disappeared into respawn. He groaned louder and reached down, his hand feeling the evidence of his dream pooling on his belly. With a shaking breath, he pulled his hand away, wet and sticky, wiping it onto his already stained sheets. “Why?” he whispered. He didn’t know quite what he was asking. Why the dreams? Why did hurting Scout have this effect on him? Why was he left feeling sick and shaking and empty whenever this happened? Why him? 

With a shake of his head, knowing these questions would never be answered, he lifted himself from the bed and dressed slowly, hoping that he would have time to grab a bite to eat and make it to the rendezvous point, but no time for idle conversation with his teammates. That suited Heavy just fine. There was something about them, something light and wholesome that he feared breaking with his darkness. The further he could stay from them, the better for all of them, he thought, knowing that living in such close quarters would inevitably lead to offers of friendship and bonding that he could only hope he had the strength to reject.

Grabbing a bagel from the kitchen, he spread the cream cheese thickly and headed for the battle. 

Heavy entered the respawn room to find the entire team there, standing by the large steel doors, waiting for them to open. He quickly went to his locker and gathered his gear, his precious Natasha hanging heavy from his arms. He was unused to the weight after weeks of not fighting, and he propped her on his hip, using the wall to steady himself. Medic was running about, giving last minute instructions and building uber, the red beam of the medigun washing across Heavy and bathing him in warmth repeatedly. He tried not to let it bother him. When the large doors flew open, he hurried out with the rest of the team, grinning with excitement, the familiar feel of adrenaline rushing through him. 

He had heard their Spy say that battles got old, that the sameness and predictability of the enemy made the rush of battle dissipate after a few years, but he had never had that problem. Every morning was the same rush, every fight the same bowel clenching struggle. Perhaps it was because he was on the front lines, his job simple whereas Spy had to be mentally exhausted from his own routine. 

The charge across the battlefield left him panting for breath, but nothing that he couldn’t control and he dropped Natasha into place, spinning her up and waiting for the first sign of BLU. He did not have to wait long and the thrill of battle took him, allowing him to stop thinking and simply be. Killing people was so zen. There was no worry, no time for fear, simply him and the gun and the bodies piling up on the point. Heavy was deep into a battle trance when the first light traces of the medigun spilled across him, the acrid scent of it’s fumes reaching his nose. He knew that scent well. The air around him crackled with pent up energy, like the air before a thunderstorm and he swore he could smell ozone. When the air tinted red, he began to run, feeling the Medic’s presence at his back. He charged around the corner and into the sentry nest, quickly taking it out, then the other buildings. He turned when Medic shouted something behind him, the uber finally wearing down, and saw the BLU Engie back Medic into a corner, a wrench held threateningly over his head.

Heavy roared in anger and snatched the smaller man up by the back of his neck, flinging him into a wall. He charged in, kicking the downed engineer, hearing the cracking of bones in his ribs and then kicking him again and again. He raised his boot and stomped down on the smaller man’s head, blood and teeth flying in a wet red spray around them, staining his pants legs. The sight of blood on his clothes only infuriated him more, and he grabbed what was left of the man, holding him up to stare into his broken face, one eye rolling in its socket, the other swelling closed rapidly. “You…” He shouted. “You will not touch Medic.” His hands wrapped around the other man’s throat, squeezing tighter and tighter. “Do you hear me, little man?” One huge fist flew, the remains of the Engineer’s face splattering blood everywhere. He glanced over his shoulder, seeking approval. Medic, not his Medic, registered through the red haze of his brain, was staring at him, open mouthed, a look of pure horror in his eyes. 

Suddenly, there were hands on his shoulders, Medic was pulling at him, protesting loudly. “Stop it! This is not necessary, Heavy, just finish him quickly.” Heavy turned to look directly at the doctor and snarled, anger filling him, this was not his Medic, his lips drew back with a savage growl as his voice rumbled through his chest. Staring into the Doktor’s eyes, his fingers twitched around the BLU’s neck, a sickening crack filling the small space as the man’s neck was broken. He continued to stare directly into the Doctor's eyes, watching the horror and disgust grow there. He dropped the corpse at the shorter man’s feet. 

Suddenly, he ducked his head, ashamed. The look in the smaller mans’ eyes, it was the same as he saw in the Pyro’s. In Scouts. In Ms. Paulings. He shoved the other man back a step and strode past him, needing to be out of the small room, needing to breath, fresh air on his face and a moment, just a damned moment of peace. He walked off the field, standing in the grass on the edge, hands on his knees, bent over, a tangled mass of emotion running through his chest, and suddenly the bagel made its return, landing in a steaming mess just in front of his bloody boots. 

He was gasping harder now, the world feeling close and tight and squeezing against him. He had sworn to do better, to be better, to be normal again and on the first day of fighting, he has failed. He groaned, it was not pain, this feeling, he did not know what it was, but he could not breath and suddenly he was on his knees in grass, hands supporting him from falling, elbows shaking and threatening to collapse,his face wet with blood and tears and he can feel his heart thundering up his throat and damn it, he cannot breathe. 

A cautious hand rested on his shoulders, rubbing in slow circles and a voice was in his ear. “Breath man, just relax. Concentrate on it, let the air in and let the air out. It’s gonna be okay, big guy.” He tried to follow the instructions, taking in deep sobbing breaths and slowly releasing them in trembling clouds of steam. He was struck by the silence, no rockets exploding, no gunfire, not even birds singing. All he can hear is that voice, so close. 

“Come on, man, it’s gonna be okay. You’re strong, you can do it.” The steady stream of nonsense slowly soothed him and he found his breathing returning to normal, his heart rate dropping, his mind clearing. He lifted his head, looking into the Scout’s warm chocolate eyes and pulled in one last deep, wavering breath. Medic was standing nearby, his face pale as he watched the Scout sooth the blood covered giant. 

The smaller man looked up, eyes catching the doctor’s. “I got this, Doc, it’s okay.” His hand continued to move in slow circles on Dimitri’s back. “Go on, we’ll catch up.”

Medic looked at them both, kneeling in the grass, uncertainty plain on his features. “If you are sure, Eric…” His face crumpled into a frown, not wanting to leave them but wanting to get back to the fighting that Heavy could now hear in the distance. He glanced once more at Heavy and Scout and then back to the fighting. 

“Go on Doc. It’s just a panic attack. I used to get ‘em all the time. I got this. I promise.” He grinned, a quick flash of white teeth in his mouth, and watched as the Medic backed away. Turning back to Heavy, his smile was broader this time. “Heya big guy. I’m Eric.” He patted Heavy on the shoulder. “We’re not really that strict about the class name stuff here, so…” 

Heavy nodded, his equilibrium slowly beginning to return. “Dimitri.” He sighed and went to stand, but a sudden wave of dizziness swept over him. God, he thinks, give me heroin. With a sigh, he pushed the thought of that brief euphoria from his mind and leaned back, slowly lowering himself to sit in the grass. “Thank you, Eric.” The name felt odd on his tongue. It had been so long since he used a given name. “I don’t know what happened. I’m sorry.” He sighed and looked down at his hands. “It was like everything was too tight.” 

Scout, no, Eric, looked at him. “You got some pretty good English, dude.” He grinned. “How did that happen?”

Dimitri realized his mistake as soon as it was pointed out. “Shit.” He muttered under his breath, then sighed. No point in trying to hide behind a facade of non fluency now. “I studied English for four years in St. Petersburg.” He glanced at Eric, noting the impressed look on the younger man’s face. “While I was getting a degree in Russian Literature.” The look deepened. “I minored in mathematics.” 

“Damn. You and Engie, huh?” Eric leaned back on the grass and laughed. “Smart.” He laughed louder. “It’s all good though, I can still out run ya.” 

“Yes, but can you outrun bullet?” Dimitri lay the accent on thick, voice deep and menacing, but Eric collapsed with laughter at his side. 

For the first time in weeks, Dimitri’s smile was genuine.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Medic and Engie discuss how they feel about Heavy, Scout gets his nose broken, Heavy maybe makes a friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is late, guys, it's been a pretty hectic week here... It's a bit longer than last week's chapter. Enjoy!

Medic glanced up from his desk as Engie walked into the clinic, then back down at his paperwork. He pushed it aside and smiled. “Hello, Jacob. How are you?” He’d been expecting this visit. The new Heavy, Dimitri, according to Eric, had been with the team for over a week now. Eight days, to be exact. And in that time, he’d ubered the man exactly once. He knew that he’d been avoiding him, could not help but avoid him. Every time he came near the new man, he remembered the sheer fury in the big man’s eyes when he’d killed the BLU Engineer. Sheer fury directed at him. 

Jacob pulled out the chair on the opposite side of the table and sat. He nodded his head in greeting, his solemn face on Medic’s. “Christof. Good to see you.”

Medic pushed the pen idly across the desk, his eyes on his papers. “Is something wrong?” Maybe, he thought, the man just had a headache or something and would take some pain tablets and go away.

“Well now, that’s actually why I stopped by. You see, I was gonna ask you that.” He sighed and looked down. “I know this isn’t easy, Doc, and I know you liked our last Heavy and that you miss him, but why are you taking that out on this one?”

Christof’s head came up at that, a flash of outrage on his face and then gone again. “What? You think that I am avoiding the Heavy because he replaced the last?” He frowned. “That has nothing to do with it, I swear.” He sighed, debating what to do. Finally he decided that he trusted the Engineer with this secret. “I will tell you what I feel, but you must not tell anyone, Jacob, do you understand me?”

Jacob nodded. “Got it, Doc. You want to get this off your chest, right? But you don’t want it to be common knowledge.” He smiled. “I think I can handle that.” He leaned forward, chin cupped in his hand and eyes on Medic’s. “Go ahead.”

Medic looked at the short, stout man sitting across the desk from him, then down at his fingers, working the pen from side to side. “I ubered him on his first day in the field. He took out a nest, and when the BLU Engineer came after me, he kicked him nearly to death, then he picked him up and looked at me, like he was seeking permission or approval or something. I told him to end it quickly and he glared at me, Jacob. He glared at me and snapped the man’s neck. With one hand. Then, he dropped him at my feet.” He frowned down at his fingers. “For the first time in a very long time, I felt afraid.” He nodded to himself, having finally identified the problem. “He frightened me. There is something about him that is…” He paused, trying to find the words. “Unsettling.” He took a deep breath and looked up at the Engineer. “I don’t know how else to describe it. He looked at me like he wanted to break MY neck. For no reason. I have done nothing to him.” The hurt in his voice was plain. “I did not want this, Jacob, I simply wanted to find a Heavy with whom I could work. This is not a good thing, I cannot work with someone who wants to destroy me.” 

Jacob frowned. “You sure you’re not just reading into the situation, Christof?” There was concern in his voice, valid concern. If Medic and Heavy could not work together, the team was not a team. It would collapse. They would all be transferred and he liked the people he worked with. He heaved a big sigh and, reaching across the desk, placed his hand on Christof’s fidgeting ones, quieting them. “I’ll start paying more attention to him, okay? See if I see what you see? We’ll go from there.”

Christof looked up at him, hope in those sky blue eyes. “You would do that for me?”

“Of course, Doc. We’ve been friends for how long now? You know I’ll look out for you, same as you would for me. If this is gonna be a problem though, the team is gonna have to know about it.” 

Medic sighed. “I know. Just watch him, tell me that I am not crazy. And watch him with Scout also. The boy is the only person he will talk to, and I don’t think that is because he wants to. I see him look at Eric sometimes, and his eyes, a shadow comes into them. I cannot describe it. It gives me chills.” He looked down at his hands again, twisting the pen nervously back and forth, back and forth. 

Engie reached out and took the pen from him. “You’re gonna break it,Doc, and then you’ll bitch about the ink.” He smiled to take the sting out of his words. “Been down this road before.” 

Medic sighed and dropped the pen, knowing that he was right of course. He watched as the short man got out of his chair and headed for the door. “Don’t worry, Doc. We’ll figure this out.” He walked out the door and down the hallway, boots clicking on the tile. 

****  
Heavy was coming from the locker room, having placed Natasha in his locker after cleaning her, when he heard the click click of booted feet. He stopped, stock still in the hallway. They couldn’t be jackboots, could they? Medic was dead. Even Ms. Pauling had sworn to it. He closed his eyes, hearing the boots coming closer, knowing that Medic was going to step around the corner and make him do something terrible, something he did not want to do, but that he was helpless to stop. He took a deep breath, gathering his nerve, and peeked around the corner, not sure if he was expecting flesh and blood or a ghost to be walking down the hallway. He froze at the sight of the Engineer, looking straight at him. Heavy ducked back around the corner, trembling slightly, uncertain. Had he been seen, peering around corners like a frightened child? 

Dimitri took a deep breath and stepped around the corner, walking hurriedly past Engie and into the rec room. He did not pause, did not look at the other man’s face, just walked quickly, head down. He did not notice Engie’s look of confusion, cast over his shoulder, as he watched the other man practically jog down the corridor. 

Once in the rec room, Dimitri took a moment to just breathe, dropping to the ratty old flower print sofa. He was so certain that had been Medic, the old Medic, jack boots heralding trouble. He could feel his chest clenching and unclenching. He deliberately focused on his breathing, slowing it and evening it out, in through the nose, out through the mouth, there would be no blood today, no evil, no pain. He was just beginning to relax when a hand dropped onto his shoulder. Dimitri screamed and threw his fist out and back, feeling warm flesh catch the edge of his knuckles just as the yelp of pain registered in his ears. 

He turned swiftly and looked over the edge of the couch, Scout lay sprawled on the floor, blood flowing crimson over his lips and chin. Dimitri licked his lips. He wanted to lick the boy clean, taste the blood on his tongue, in his throat. He closed his eyes and looked away. “You should not be here, boy. Not sneaking up on people.” He tried to get the image of the blood out of his mind, but even the backs of his eyelids were crimson. He lurched up from the couch, holding one hand down to hide the bulge in his crotch, and staggered out of the rec room, heading for his own room, where he knew he could lock the door and no one would be harmed by him. 

***

Dimitri flopped onto the bed and let out a relieved sigh. He couldn’t get the thought of Scout, no, he thought, Eric, out of his mind. He muttered to himself, one hand sliding down his stomach to his cargo pants. He undid the button and slid his zipper down. He hadn’t touched himself since the night Medic died. His cock was so hard, it hurt. He reached inside his pants and freed himself of the confining cloth, hand wrapping around his member and stroking slowly. He closed his eyes with a groan of relief. The sight of Eric’s face, covered in blood, was prominent in his mind and he twitched, balls heavy. He allowed his mind to wander, thumb sliding over the tip of his cock, slicking it with the precum he found beading there. He pictured the Pyro’s mouth, soft and hot as her flamethrower, wrapping around him, the pleasured moans as Scout cleaned his mess from between her legs. He stroked himself, hand moving faster as, unbidden, the image of Medic penetrating her as well came to him. His breathing was a freight train, moving at full speed, toward a broken stretch of track as the pressure built inside. He groaned, wanting release.

The thought of Medic’s hands, wrapped around her neck, the sharp snap of bone, the sight of her face, going blue and cold as he came inside her were what finally sent him over the edge with a roar of mingled agony and relief. Dimitri curled onto his side, hand covered in his own white seed, and began to sob. The cries were so racking that they exhausted him and finally, emptied out, he fell asleep. 

***  
Scout sat on the gurney in the clinic, Medic examining his nose carefully. “Well, Eric, it doesn’t appear to be broken too badly. Now, would you like to tell me how this happened?” His hand was warm on the boy’s shoulder, their faces close as Medic peered at the damage. 

“Doc, I told you I didn’t want to talk about it, k?” Eric squirmed as Medic poked at the swollen appendage, his voice high and nasally. “Can’t ya just fix it?” 

Medic sighed. “I can, but I would still like to know what happened. You cannot simply come in here and tell me that you’ve broken your nose without some sort of explanation, Eric. It’s not right.” Christof sighed. “Besides, I am curious, you know.” 

Eric grinned. “Yeah, I know, Doc. Long noses, right?” He laughed, then coughed up a wad of clotted blood and spit it into the small pan he held. “If I tell you, will you hurry it up?” 

Christof chuckled. “I will ‘hurry it up’ anyway, Eric. I am not torturing you, I simply need to determine where the break is, in order to reset it. You don’t want to have a crooked nose, do you?” He smiled at the boy. “Your pretty face, no longer pretty. What would Ms. Pauling say?” He teased the boy into a grin, then grabbing the nose, jerked it to the side, ignoring the high pitched scream of distress. “There. Perfect again.” He quickly turned the medigun beam onto Scout’s face, bathing it in the red glow. “Now, care to tell me what happened?”

Scout sighed and looked down at his feet, beating a tattoo on the gurney with his heels. “I was in the rec room and the new Heavy came in, white as a sheet. Hand to God, Doc, he looked like he’d just seen a ghost.” Scout sighed. “He was sitting on the couch, doing this breathing thing, and I walked over and touched him on the shoulder.” He put his hands up, waving away any protest before Christof could voice it. “I know, I know, it was a stupid move. Anyway, he punched me. I think I scared him. He looked over at me, then he just jumped up and ran off.” Scout sighed. “That dude is just weird.” 

He paused at the look on Medic’s face. “What’s wrong, Doc? Did I do something wrong?” He frowned. “You look really worried.”

Christof sighed. “I don’t know what to say, Eric. I wish that you would leave him alone. There’s something about him, something off.” His voice trailed off into silence. “Would you go with me to Dave’s workshop, tell him what you’ve just told me? I think he should know about this.”

Scout nodded, silent, sensing the serious tone behind the request. “Sure, I guess. But, honestly Doc, I think I just really scared him. I don’t think he meant to hurt me. It just sort of happened.” 

***

Engie, sitting in front of a table laden with blueprints and spare parts, listened to Scout’s story, his eyes flicking from Scout to Medic and back. When Scout finally stopped talking, his brow furrowed in confusion, then he spoke. “I was walking down the hall and I saw him peeking around a corner. He looked scared to death, and then he just started down the hall, half jogging and ran into the rec room. That must be when you found him. You say he was just sitting there, breathing?”

“Yeah, yeah, like this.” Scout demonstrated, his breath loud in the workshop. 

Engie frowned. “That is just about the oddest thing I’ve ever heard.” His eyes shifted to Medic. “Doc?” 

Medic frowned. “I don’t know, Dave. It sounds like he was trying to prevent another panic attack. But why would seeing you give him a panic attack? No offense, but you are not frightening.”

Engie chuckled. “None taken, Doc.” He picked up a sharpened pencil and began doodling on the edge of a blueprint. “Now, I know that this seems pretty odd, but maybe there’s a reason he’s so touchy. We don’t know what happened to him or where he came from, only that he’s here now and we need to learn to work with him.” Engie sighed. “I could try to talk to him, I guess. I don’t know if it would help, but that man seems as edgy as a long tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs.” 

Engie frowned. “It shouldn’t be that hard to corner him though, ask him what’s up.” He glanced at Scout’s face. “I’ll just make sure I don’t sneak up on him. Looks like that could be a real bad idea.” He chuckled and Scout smiled faintly, acknowledging the situation. 

“Yeah, hardhat, bad idea all around.” He sighed. “I don’t get it. He seems nice enough, when you can get him to talk, but getting him to talk is the problem. Hell, he’s been here over a week and he ain’t said more than two words to anybody.” 

Engie sighed, not quite sure why he’d volunteered for this little mission. It sounded like a dangerous pain in the ass type of thing, one of those things you regretted later. He rubbed a hand over his face and looked at his teammates. “Not gonna do it today though. It’s late and I’m tired. Tomorrow will be time enough.” He watched the disappointment in Christof’s face and sighed. “Fine, fine. I”ll give it a try, okay? But no guarantees.” He shrugged. “Maybe I can get him drunk or something.” 

***  
Engie walked through the base, looking for the Heavy. He carried a bucket, filled with ice, several bottles of beer sunk deep inside, condensation running down the dark brown necks. He’d looked all around the first floor with no luck. Time for the second floor, he decided, remembering an old quote his granny used to say, something about bearding the lion in its den. He groaned to himself and began to climb the steps. 

When he reached the top, he stalked down the corridor, unable to contain the unease in his chest. “Best to get it over with.” He thought to himself, pausing outside the door with the Heavy class symbol and knocking. There was no answer. He frowned and knocked harder. He thought that he heard someone moving around in there, but no one came to answer his knock. He sighed and sat the bucket down on the floor, then knocked again, positive that the BLU base could hear him this time. Still, nothing. Engie frowned. Now this was just downright awkward. He glanced down at the bucket, then back to the closed door. Finally, he turned and stomped down the corridor, admitting defeat. 

***  
Dimitri leaned against the wall and listened as the footsteps receded. He’d woken to the sound of someone pounding at his door and had immediately jumped up to open it, then remembered where he was. He didn’t have to open the door. He knew this. Whatever was happening out there, not his concern. He had leaned against the wall and waited. Eventually, he knew, he would outwait whoever it was and they would leave. And now, they had. 

He had to admit to some curiosity, but he assumed it was about the Scout and his broken nose. He glanced down at his hand, flexing it into a fist and then releasing it, small flecks of blood and come breaking loose and drifting to the floor. He groaned quietly. What the hell had possessed him? He’d never meant to become aroused, had not wanted to relieve himself at the sight of blood and gore. And yet that was exactly what he had done, bolting for his room like a randy teenager with a stolen magazine, to stroke himself to panting exhaustion on a now filthy mattress. Suddenly, he slammed his fist into the wall, watching as plaster fell around it. With a groan, he jerked open the door, determined to wash the mess from his hands, only to trip over a bucket and sprawl to the uncarpeted floor. He cursed loudly and proliferately, in three languages. 

When he finally stopped cursing, he was startled to hear hands clapping in the empty corridor. The sound of a cloaking device alerted him to the Spy’s direction and he turned his head to see the man appear in a swirl of mist. “That, my friend, was most impressive.” Spy looked down at him, then offered him a hand. 

Heavy snorted and pushed himself up against the wall. “If I took your hand, little man, we would both be on the floor.” He looked around himself at the mess of ice and beer bottles that he was sitting in. With a loud sigh, he reached for a bottle and popped the cap off. He offered it to the Spy and then reached for one of his own. 

Spy tilted his head to the side and slid down the wall also, sitting across from Heavy, but careful to remain out of arm's reach. “I’m Aubert. Pleased to meet you again.”

Heavy raised an eyebrow. “Dimitri. Same.” He took a drink from his bottle. “You drove me here. You are not a very friendly man. Why attempt to be friendly now?” 

“You offered me a drink. I think that common courtesy would at least have me tell you my name.” He arched his brow sardonically. “Also, I would love to know how you came to be sprawled in the corridor, cursing, with a bucket of Engie’s infamous Texas beer scattered around you.” He laughed. “I sense quite the tale here.”

Dimitri shook his head. “Not so much. I was going to wash my hands and fell over it.” He wanted the story to be short and to the point, but one look at the Spy told him this was not acceptable. He sighed. “I broke the Scout’s nose. I did not mean to. He startled me.” The look of puzzlement on the Spy’s face was only deepening. “I think that maybe the Engineer wished to speak to me about this. I think that is why he brought the beer.” He looked around at the mess. “Maybe he was afraid I would break his nose also?” 

Spy scoffed. “I seriously doubt that, Dimitri. Our Engineer has had broken noses before. Do you think that maybe he was hoping to make friends with you?” He smiled, his face softening under the mask. “You have kept to yourself for the past week, and we are not used to men who keep to themselves.” He drank, then looked at Dimitri again. “If you wish to do so, I can understand that. The others however, may not be so easily persuaded.” He arched an eyebrow again. “So, do you wish to keep to yourself?”

Dimitri thought about that for a moment. The overwhelming solitude of the past week preyed on him. He had never felt so useless, so unwanted. “I’m not certain.” He sighed. “That would be very easy, but I am lonely. I miss people. But, I don’t want anyone to…” He stopped speaking, unsure how to express his fear. 

“Do you play chess?” The question came out of the blue, leaving Dimitri at a loss for words. He turned the question over and over in his mind, seeking a hidden meaning, but finally chose to accept it at face value. “Yes?” 

“Would you like to play a game of chess with me?” The Spy’s face was neutral, neither hopeful nor looking as though this were an imposition. 

The look gave Dimitri courage. “I would like that.” He pushed himself up the wall and reached for the bucket, scooping ice into it. Rescuing the beer bottles that were rolling around the corridor, he planted them firmly in the bucket and stood to follow Spy.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dimitri seems to be settling in to this new life he's been offered, making friends, finally starting to bond with and trust a new Medic, only to have that trust shattered on both sides through one innocuous action.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to Distasty for everything. Also, thank you to everyone who has read this story, thank you for the comments and kudos! They mean so much to me! I apologize that it's taken me so long to get back to Dimitri and his new team, real life got me for a while... Hopefully, I will regain my equilibrium and be able to start posting on a regular basis again.

The battle had been heated, all team members stressed to their limit by Christof’s refusal to fight near Dimitri. Dimitri himself had noticed this and was unsure how to deal with the situation. He fought near Christof, staying just on the smaller man’s periphery, covering him and whomever the Doctor had decided to stay close to. This meant that Dimitri’s effectiveness was reduced. He did not like hanging back, watching Pyro get ubered, or Demo get ubered. Although they were skilled fighters, they were not used to being on the front lines in quite that manner, and it reduced the effectiveness of pushes. 

And then, there was the Soldier. The man, Szymon, Sy for short, was the Detroit born son of Polish immigrants. He was also, in Dimitri’s opinion, a complete and utter fool. He charged in, jumped back out, and was, to all intents and purposes, too foolhardy to realize that he was putting others in danger. However, he was a Soldier, and that is what they did. 

But then Christof, having lost Demo to the BLU Heavy’s minigun, decided to uber Sy. Dimitri, laying down fire on the sideline, watched the entire situation go south. Christof turned the medigun on Sy, ubered him, and as soon as the red glow suffused him entirely, Sy grabbed Christof around the waist and rocket jumped into the middle of the fray, promptly getting himself killed and leaving their Medic surrounded by the enemy. 

Dimitri roared, a combination of frustration and instinct urging him to stride onto the point and place himself between Christof and the oncoming fighters. His entire body shuddered as bullets struck him, but, glancing over his shoulder, he saw that Christof was shielded. “Run, Doctor!” He planted his feet, staring intently at the oncomers. And then, he ran out of bullets. With a loud curse, he swung Natasha to his back and pulled the shotgun holstered there. Christof did not run. Instead, the medigun’s glow bathed him for the first time in weeks. He sighed at the familiar feel and began to pick off targets, all the while backing slowly toward shelter. Christof, behind him, dropped the medigun long enough to stab the BLU Spy, and then turned the beam back onto Dimitri. 

Slowly, they made their way backwards toward a small shed with concrete walls that would serve to allow them to regroup, if nothing else. Once inside, Dimitri took deep breaths, shaking with the adrenaline of having lived through the entire BLU team’s attack. He glanced at the doctor and, still flush with their success, he smiled. “We work well together.” 

Christof looked at the bigger man and something inside him gave way. That smile was not full of fury, it was full of pride. His mind played back to the past few weeks, the many times that Dimitri could have pressed on, or back, and had instead remained near, covering him. He sighed. “I am sorry, Dimitri. I should have been healing you all along.” He watched the numerous bullet holes in the giant close up, healing under the medigun’s effects. “I should have been doing my job.” 

Dimitri shrugged. “I frightened you. I did not mean to frighten you, Doctor, but I was angry and,” he glanced down at his feet, “unsure.” He sighed. “Your team is very different from my last team. I am beginning to understand though.” He looked out the door of the building. “How close are you to having uber? We may live through this, Doctor.”

Christof checked the charge on his medigun and then he too, peered out the door. The BLU demo was standing in the open, watching them, looking for all the world as though he was too drunk to function. “We could get past him, without uber. He is going to pass out soon.”

Dimitri shook his head. “There are bombs placed around the edge of the door. I heard him right after we came in here. If we step outside without an uber, he will blow us to pieces. If we wait much longer, the rest of his team will respawn and pin us in here. I have found ammo for Natasha, but even with a full magazine and spares, I cannot hold them off forever.” 

Christof checked the meter on his Medigun once more. “It is building too slowly. There is nothing I can do, Heavy.” 

The larger man barely spared him a glance as he pulled a pair of brass knuckles from his pocket. “My name is Dimitri.” Slipping the heavy brass over his fingers, he began to pound his fists into his legs as hard as possible. 

“Dimitri! Stop it! What are you doing?” Christof screamed as he watched Dimitri attack himself, unsure whether the man had lost his mind or not. The hard metal, driven full force, causing huge bruises to bloom and immediately fade as the medigun healed them. 

“We need the uber, Doctor. It builds faster when one is healing the injured. I am injuring myself.” He continued to pound his fists into his thighs. “Can you deny this?” 

Christof looked down at the dials on the uber counter. “It’s true. How did you know that, though?” His eyes were puzzled as he watched the uber building. “What kind of monster would tell their own teammates to harm themselves to build uber?” His frown deepened. 

“My last doctor was that kind of monster. How close are we?” 

“Ready. Stop hurting yourself. We can go now.” Christof walked to the door and peered out again. “The demo is still there, but I don’t see anyone else yet. We should be able to do this.” He turned back to Dimitri. “Why would you do this for me though? Why go to all this trouble when you could have allowed me to die and respawn earlier?”

Dimitri slipped the brass off his knuckles and picked up Natasha, spinning her up. “Because you are the most important member of the team. You live, no matter what.” He stepped toward the door, Christof close behind him, the red sparking ozone of the uber beginning to light up the small building. 

The pair charged out of the building, through the explosion that blew apart the door frame they had been sheltering behind, and straight through the Demoman. Their momentum was unstoppable. The point was a small matter after that daring escape, and RED quickly took the day. 

***  
That night’s celebration was epic. Everyone contributed something, right down to Scout’s impersonations of the BLU team. Dimitri sat in the rec room, on the couch with the others. He’d come back to base and been heading for his room, when Aubert lay a hand on his forearm, smiling and cajoling him into joining the rest of the team. “This celebration is for you, my friend. If you hide in your room, it will lessen the joy of the entire team.” His smile grew broader. “Come, drink with us. Even if only for a brief moment.” 

Dimitri had acquiesced, and now found himself sitting on the couch with the rest of the team surrounding him, a beer in hand, and the others talking animatedly around him. He glanced at Spy and smiled, happy that he’d taken the other man’s advice. Spy was sitting in the corner, legs crossed, holding a glass of wine in one hand, cigarette in the other, looking content as a cat with a bowl of cream. 

Scout, no, Eric, he reminded himself, put on a record, some sort of modern rock music, the beat heavy and pounding. He leaned back on the couch and watched as Demo got up and began to stomp around the room, the dance moves unfamiliar to him. Dimitri grinned. He’d never heard this song before, but he was enjoying it. His smile broadened as his foot began to tap, his fingers to drum onto his knee. 

Eric was grinning from the other side of the sofa, suddenly the boy jumped up and grabbed his hand, attempting to pull him to his feet. Dimitri sat still, letting the boy pull, aware that the only way to move him was if he wanted to be moved. At last, slightly out of breath, Eric panted “Come on, man, get up! Let’s dance!”

Dimitri shook his head. “Does not know this dance, Eric. I am Heavy, I cannot dance.”  
Eric’s grin broadened. “Yeah you can, you just need somebody to teach you how.” He gestured vaguely over his shoulder. “Come on, I taught Demo and look at him!” 

Dimitri looked at the drunken Demo, staggering across the floor in a poor imitation of a crab with a missing leg. “That is not furthering your cause, boy.” He laughed suddenly and rose to his full height, towering over the Scout. “However, if you want this so badly, I will acquiesce.” 

Eric frowned for a moment, then laughed. “I’m not sure what you said, but I’ll take it that’s a yes.” He walked to the middle of the floor and began to show Dimitri the moves of the dance, foot and hand positioning and how they related to the beat. He was a surprisingly good teacher, Dimitri thought to himself, patient and willing to correct mistakes repeatedly and it wasn’t long before Dimitri was moving in time to the music, with only minor corrections from Eric. 

When the song ended, they collapsed onto the couch in a grinning heap, refilling their drinks and drinking deeply. It was as though a floodgate had opened as the others lined up with favorite records, and the dancing and drinking carried on until nearly dawn. 

Dimitri fell into his bed at four am, a satisfied if drunken smile on his face. He felt alive. He felt wanted. He felt like part of a team again. He turned his head into the pillow and closed his eyes, relaxing into the first sound sleep he’d had in months. 

***  
When Dimitri woke up, a squinty eyed glance at the bedside clock confirmed that it was after two pm. He groaned, one hand going to his aching head, and rolled over. That, he thought, as his gorge rose in his throat, was a mistake. Sitting up carefully, he planted both feet on the floor and suddenly lunged for the small toilet, vomiting up a mixture of bile and last night’s beer before finally settling down beside it with a sigh. “Should not have mixed the beer with the whiskey, Dima. You know better.” He whispered into the empty room but his voice seemed to echo. The throbbing behind his temples abated a bit and he stood, shaky and weak, his stomach twisting and clenching at the movement. 

Dimitri swallowed a few times, then brushed his teeth in the small sink and peered into the mirror. He looked a bit more presentable now, less the caveman and more the Neanderthal, he decided. Time to look for coffee. Leaving his room, he wandered down the corridor, heading for the kitchen. He was still having some trouble navigating a straight line and he tried to think to the last time he’d had that much to drink. Months, years? He couldn’t seem to keep track of the time, but that was a small wonder, he decided. So much time lost on the last base. So many things to atone for, a small voice whispered inside his head. 

He stepped into the kitchen and rooted through the cups until he found one, then added milk and sugar to the bottom. He reached for the coffee pot, his ears pricking as he heard quiet steps behind him. With the cup filled, he turned to see Christof standing in the doorway, wearing a tattered plaid robe and slippers. There were dark circles under his eyes and his hair was sticking out everywhere. 

“Just wake up, Dimitri?” The doctor’s voice was soft, but Dimitri winced. It cut straight through his head, reawakening the pounding behind his eyes. 

“Yes. I was thinking that coffee would help. I am not so certain now.” He glanced down at the cup, his stomach starting to churn once more as the sweet smell drifted upward on a cloud of steam.

Christof dug into his pocket, then opened his palm to reveal two innocuously small white tablets. “This will make it better.” 

Dimitri closed his eyes against the sudden flash of rage that shot through him. He could not look at the doctor. His hand started to tremble, scalding coffee splashing out of the cup and running over his hand. Suddenly, a ghostly hand was on his shoulder and a voice said “Come now, take the medicine.” He knew that voice, it was impossible, but that was the voice that haunted his nightmares. His eyes flew open and landed on the Doctor’s face, but he was not seeing Christof. The man before him was a different man entirely. 

Dimitri dropped the cup with a roar, his hand wrapping around the doctor’s throat and squeezing. It was like he was outside his body, looking in as the all consuming rage swept over him. He lifted the smaller man, shaking him like a dog would a rat and suddenly was slamming him into the wall, over and over, screaming into his face, wordless sounds of rage pouring from his mouth as the pills went flying. He watched as blood spurted from the Medic’s mouth, his eyes rolling back into his head and still, he pounded the limp body into the wall, the sound of bones crunching loud in his ears. 

He was no longer roaring by this point, but sobbing loudly, great hitching breaths that filled the air as respawn picked up the Medic and his now empty hand smashed into the blood smeared wall. Dimitri could not stop punching the blood stain, only now his own blood was flying outward, splattering everywhere, adding to the mess. He felt hands on his shoulders and he fought harder, no longer aware of where he was or what was happening, only that there were hands on him and pain, so much pain. Once again, he had been reduced to an animal, frightened and fighting for survival. “The only difference is the base,” his mind whispered, “not the people. They pull you in and then they try to trap you.” He could not stop crying as he fought, the tears running down his face, blinding him. 

Suddenly there was a soothing, familiar voice in his ear, a weight on his back and he recognized Spy, just as a needle pricked his neck and warmth filled his veins. He stumbled, falling into the blood pooling at his feet, eyes trying to focus on Aubert’s face, the concern there so evident as his eyes slid shut and his head finally stopped pounding.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Medic and Spy seek to understand Dimitri's behavior and reach some sort of conclusion about how much of a danger he poses to the the team.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A huge thank you to Distasty for reading this and helping me formulate the nebulous ideas that coalesced into Dimitri!

Dimitri opened his eyes to a softly blurred world and a feeling of peace and well being that he hadn’t known since, he frowned,trying to get his fuzzy thoughts in order, since the last night with Medic. He groaned and attempted to wipe a hand over his face, only to discover that his hands were tied. He raised his head slightly and looked down at his body. Whatever he’d been given, it was potent. Even tied to a gurney, surrounded by the too familiar trappings of a clinic, he was calm. 

He turned his head as a throat was cleared softly and peered at the two men staring at him. Spy and Medic, he identified finally, his lips bending into a warm smile at the sight of them. “Hello Doktor. Hello Aubert.” He lay his head back on the soft pillow and stared at the ceiling, eyes attempting to find patterns in the texture of the plaster there. 

“Dimitri,” Aubert kept his voice calm, soothing. “Why did you harm the Medic?” 

Dimitri shook his head, getting his thoughts in order. He stared up at the ceiling, pretending that it had asked the question. It was so much easier than looking into the eyes of the man he’d just murdered. “Doktor tried to give me the little white pills, the morphine. I did not want the morphine.” His voice was soft. “Ms. Pauling will kill me if I start taking the morphine again. Or the heroin.” He took a deep breath, letting it out in a sigh of regret. He liked Ms. Pauling, and seeing the disgust written in her eyes had wounded him deeply. “She said that she wanted to bury me alive.” He frowned, remembering when she’d made the threat. “I do not think she would though. She would kill me cleanly. Not like Medic. He liked our pain.” He fell silent, watching dust motes drift in a sunbeam. 

Aubert and Christof exchanged puzzled glances. Aubert pointed to the small office behind the clinic and Christof nodded, standing and walking through the door. When Aubert entered, he closed the door behind them both. 

“Do you have any idea what he is talking about?” Christof kept his voice low, not wanting the man in the other room to hear. He sighed as Aubert shook his head. “Perhaps something in his file? I have not had time to go over the entire thing yet.” He pulled the papers from their cabinet and sat down, poring over them. “I do not see anything for the past two months, Aubert. It’s all been redacted.” He sighed. “Why would anyone do that? I need that information.” Rubbing a hand over his forehead, he sighed. “I need to know if he is safe to work with, or even to be around. From all appearances, he is too volatile.” He glanced across the table at the frown on his friend’s face. “You would disagree?” 

Aubert glanced down at his hands, then back up at the Medic. “We’ve been playing chess for the past few weeks. He is a brilliant man, a good strategist, but sometimes,” he frowned, “sometimes he falls silent. Stares off into nothing. I have never pressed him for reasons before this. I assumed that his ghosts were his own. That he would allow me in when he was ready. Perhaps I should have pressed harder.” He glanced up at Christof, his mind going back to Dimitri’s words, the implications behind them.

Christof frowned, thinking over his encounters with the man strapped to the gurney. “When we needed uber, he punched himself repeatedly. He said that his Medic made them harm themselves to build uber. And now, this?” He looked up at the Spy, eyes dark with concern. “What kind of doctor does that? And if he would force them to harm themselves for his benefit, what else would he do? Somehow, this is tied to me, and to the aspirin I offered him for his headache.” He flipped the file closed. “Please, see if you can find out what happened to him. I do not want to tell the Administrator that there is a problem. We haven’t had this Heavy for long and she will think that we are merely being difficult. But, Aubert, he frightens me. He killed me, I don’t understand his reasons, and I have to know if he is going to do it again. What kind of man is he? What the hell are we dealing with here? I need to know.”

Aubert played idly with the cuff of his sleeve, buttoning and unbuttoning it. He frowned down at his fingers, turning the questions over and over in his mind. “I could speak with him. He trusts me already, and in his current state, he will be easy to question.” The thought of interrogating a teammate who was drugged did not sit well with him, but he could not deny the truth of Medic’s words. It was hard to work with someone and not know what was going to set them off. 

Aubert stood and walked into the next room, watching the Heavy strapped to the table for a moment, thinking about the best way to approach this. The man was staring at the ceiling, relaxed into his restraints, a smile on his face as he appeared to be watching something Aubert could not see. He appeared to be at ease, almost as though he’d spent time in restraints before. There was none of the twisting and turning that one often saw in someone who was restrained for the first time, none of the unease that often worked its way through, even with drugs. Aubert picked up one of the straight backed chairs in the clinic and carried it to the big man, sitting it down carefully. Lowering himself into it, he crossed his legs, straightened his slacks and reached for the bigger man’s hand, tapping it lightly to get his attention. When he spoke, he took care to modulate his voice to a softer tone. “Dimitri? How are you feeling?”

Dimitri turned his head to the side and smiled at the dapper man sitting in the chair beside him. “You are very handsome. You know this, right?”

Aubert smiled, realizing that the drugs were removing all of the other man’s inhibitions. “Thank you, Dimitri.” He could not help but preen a bit. “You are a handsome man also.” He smiled, leaning forward in his chair, wanting to establish a rapport through body language with Dimitri. If this was to be an interrogation, he may as well use the techniques he’d learned so long ago. “Can you tell me why you were so angry at Medic?” 

Dimitri turned his head. “My Medic, or this new Medic, Christof.” His brow furrowed in a frown. “I don’t really want to talk about my Medic, Handsome Aubert. It is not a good topic.” He shifted uneasily in the restraints, a hint of unease on his face. 

The Spy shrugged. “We shall not then. Why were you so angry at Christof, Dimitri? What did he do?” He allowed his voice to reflect sympathy, understanding. “Did he harm you?” 

Dimitri shook his head. “He offered me the pills, the morphine. I thought he was a good man, but he is not.” He fell quiet, his dark eyes flitting to the ceiling again, focusing there.  
“ What makes you think that he is not a good man?” 

“He offered me the morphine. He even said that I would feel better after, just like Medic did. Every time that he gave it to me, he said the same thing.” Dimitri pitched his voice higher, imitating the German accent perfectly. “Take the pills, Heavy. They will make it better. I will give you the pills, Heavy, but you must do this thing for me.” He frowned. “They do not make it better, they simply make me forget who I have harmed. The pills made it all seem like a bad dream. A nightmare with no end, Handsome Aubert.”

Aubert, hearing the sorrow and tension in Dimitri’s voice, decided to change the subject for the moment. He wanted to keep the man relaxed and comfortable until he had the information Christof needed. “Where were you right before you came here, Dimitri? And why would Ms. Pauling want to kill you?”

“Rehab. The program was nice, the hospital was clean and the nurses were not afraid of me. I liked it there.” He chuckled softly. “Brave little nurses. They smelled very good, and even though I could have broken any one of them at any time, but I did not. They were too pretty to break. Like little white birds, flitting about.” Concern crept into his voice. “I did a good thing, right?”

There was doubt in his voice, an uncertainty that Aubert was quick to assuage. “You did very well, Dimitri.” He reached for the other’s hand, his own warm one encasing it. “I am very proud of you for not harming the nurses.” He was shocked as Dimitri whimpered like a wounded animal and clasped his hand like a drowning man would a rope. What had happened to this poor man he wondered, to make him need this reassurance that it was okay to not harm someone? 

“Were you there because of the drugs?” He lowered his voice even more, the sorrow and worry creeping into it. “What did they do to you? Help me to understand, Dimitri.”

Dimitri turned his head, looking at Aubert, eyes wide. “Medic gave me the drugs. It was just for the pain, at first.” His voice darkened. “And soon, I could not say no to them. The heroin was the best. It made the world better, made me forget the things he wanted me to do. The things he made me do.” His breath hitched, voice becoming unsteady. 

“I did not like hurting them, Aubert, it was wrong. They were my team. That is not how team mates are supposed to treat each other.” A tear crept down Dimitri’s cheek, Aubert’s eyes followed the track it made before he reached out and wiped it away with his thumb. Dimitri pressed his face into the light touch and Aubert curved his hand around the others cheek, stroking his skin gently. 

“When I had the heroin, I did not care. And when I did not have it, I hurt. I hurt so bad.” The voice was plaintive now. “I would do anything to get it again. And he used me. Then he gave me what I needed and he used me again.” He took a deep breath, his eyes glassy with more tears. “I hurt all the time there. Only when I had the drugs was it better. I overdosed, so many times. So many trips through respawn, and then, needing again. Always wanting more, always wanting to forget. It was no way to live.”

Aubert closed his eyes, looking away from Dimitri, not wanting him to see the pain his words were causing. He could only imagine what the man had been through, and how it had scarred him. Not ‘the man’, he thought to himself suddenly, but ‘my friend’. Over the chess board, he has become my friend. It certainly explained some of his actions since arriving here, and it was strangely reassuring that the attack on Medic was not some random fit of anger. The problem though, was how to make the rest of the team, and especially Medic, see this?

Aubert took a deep breath and squeezed Dimitri’s hand, taking a moment to absorb the other man’s words. Did he want to know what he’d done to his team, what haunted him so badly? Dimitri was in a very fragile state now, the drugs Christof had used to sedate him coursing through his blood stream. He didn’t think he would like what he heard, but it would possibly be valuable. Aubert was caught between wanting to know and wanting to allow his friend to keep his secrets. He weighed the choices in his mind. Finally, Aubert leaned forward. “What did you do to your team, Dimitri?” 

The giant on the gurney sighed. “I beat them until they did what Medic wanted. I raped the Scout. I killed him so many times from being too rough with him. I beat the Pyro, and when Medic drugged her, I raped her also. The only one who was safe from us was the Engineer. Medic told me that the Administrator said he was to be well treated. That she owed his family something.” His voice was low. “And then, when he finally stood up for the team, Medic and I cut his tongue from his mouth.” Dimitri’s voice dropped, becoming barely a whisper. “It was appalling. Like nothing I’ve ever seen before, Aubert.” He shuddered, his eyes scrunched tightly shut. “There was so much blood. And the tongue, twitching like a salted slug on a tray, like some sort of trophy that Medic was proud of. I remember this, the blood was so red on the white tiles. And then, the girl shot us and when I woke up, I was in the BLU base. And from there, the hospital, and finally, I am here.” He sighed, sorrow in his voice. “I thought it would be different here, a chance to start over.” He turned his face to the wall. “I was wrong, Aubert, I was so wrong.”

Aubert leaned back in his chair, digesting what the other man had just told him. He closed his eyes for a moment, struggling to calm the emotions surging through him, disgust, anger, a bit of fear of the man who had done so many terrible things. He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out his cigarette case, lighting one and staring at the swirling smoke. What to do with this knowledge? If he told the rest of the team everything, Dimitri would have no chance here, and he felt like, under it all, he was a good person. Aubert blew a swirl of smoke out his nose and sighed. “What a damned mess.” He contemplated the Heavy before him, eyes on the wall, stare now unfocused as he allowed himself to drift. 

Aubert gave the large hand under his own a final squeeze and stood. “I will return soon, my friend. It will all work out. I promise you this.” He sighed, hoping that he hadn’t just lied to the man, and walked back into Christof’s office. 

Christof glanced up at him, eyes dark and hard. “Well?” He sighed and put down the paper he was working on, pen laid neatly beside it. “What have you found out? How bad is it?” 

Aubert shook his head and sat down in the chair opposite Christof’s desk. “It is not good. But, it is not as bad as I had feared, Christof.” He glanced up, then back down at the cigarette still burning between his fingers, finally lifting it to his lips and inhaling. “I do not think that he meant to harm you.” He watched the grey smoke drift through a shaft of sunlight. How much to tell, and how much to keep to himself? This was going to be a delicate balancing act. 

“His former Medic,” he paused, searching for the words, “He created an addiction. And then, he used that addiction to control the man.” He shook his head. “You had no way of knowing this, of course, but when you offered him the aspirin for his head, he thought that you were offering him morphine. He thought that you were trying to get him addicted again. You did know what his former Medic had said, but you used the exact same words. It triggered the memory inside him, and that memory took him over. That is why he reacted so violently to you.” He leaned back in his chair, hoping that Christof would not attempt to dig any deeper. He was already beginning to regret that he had. There were some things that, once heard, could not be unheard. 

Christof shook his head. “He killed me, Aubert. He beat me to death and then, if what you all say is true, he broke Scout’s arm, knocked out Sniper, and you finally ended up sedating him. I am not certain if I can ever trust him again. Knowing this helps a little, but…” He took in a deep breath, not sure what to say. How to explain the memory of being slammed repeatedly into a wall that haunted him at night? He did not want Aubert to worry, did not want him to know that he hadn’t slept at all in the day since Dimitri lost his temper, that every time he closed his eyes, he saw the wall coming at his face again, felt how powerless he was to stop the death that waited for him. It was one thing when he died in battle, that was to be expected, a business arrangement if you like, but what Dimitri had done was something else entirely. Christof sighed, big hand pushing his glasses further up his nose. “I will try to maintain a working relationship with him if he is willing and able to tell me when I have offended him instead of just killing me, but if he lays a hand on me again, one of us will have to transfer. And I was here first, Aubert. It will not be me.” 

Aubert sat back in his seat, watching the man. His cheeks were flushed and his blue eyes sparkled with anger. He nodded finally. “That sounds like a fair trade, Christof. Do you want to tell him? It will mean more, coming from you.” 

Christof sighed and rose from his chair, going into the next room and stopping beside Dimitri’s gurney. He paused, looking down at the man who was now sleeping heavily, chest rising and falling rhythmically as his breath whistled through his nose. He looks so young, Christof thought suddenly, his hand automatically going to the streak of grey that marred his own dark hair. And I did sedate him. He glanced over at Aubert, seeing the way the Spy’s eyes had softened. “Later.” he whispered, just loud enough for Aubert to hear. “Let him sleep for now. I shall tell him when he wakens.” He stepped back from the gurney, and the two men went to Christof’s office, settling into their respective chairs to wait. 

When Dimitri pried his eyes open finally, he groaned in discomfort. His mouth was so dry that it felt like his tongue was glued to the top of his mouth. “Water.” He croaked. “Please. Water.” He was rewarded when an ice filled glass with a bent straw was brought into his field of vision. The straw came to his mouth and he drank deeply, draining the glass, then looking at it with longing. The small crystal beads of condensation were running down the sides and he wanted nothing more than to lick them off, crush the ice between his teeth, soothe his parched throat. But it was not to be, the glass was moved away and Christof stepped into view, his white lab coat starched and crisp. 

“I think that we need to talk, Dimitri.” He could not keep the irritation from his voice, did not even try in fact. He shifted slightly, from one foot to the other, then frowned and straightened his back. 

“I am sorry, Doktor. I did not mean it.” Dimitri spoke fast, his words flowing from his mouth, a mangled mixture of English and Russian in his anxiety. “I was not feeling well and when you tried to help, I ruined everything. I am so sorry.” He turned his head, keeping the Medic in his line of sight. When the man moved his hand suddenly, Dimitri flinched from the expected blow. 

Christof saw the reaction and, frowning, lowered his hand to his side, moving slowly. He sighed, unsure how to react with this fresh evidence of Dimitri’s prior abuse, unsure if he should still be angry or not, but still wary. “I have thought hard on this, Dimitri. Aubert told me why you did what you did.” He still could not say, “Why you killed me,” even though the words echoed through his mind. “I cannot say I understand what would have driven you to think that I would offer you something like morphine for a headache, but I want you to know, it was aspirin. From now on, when I offer you medications, I will tell you what they are. I apologize for that part of this ordeal.” He sighed, a frown drawing lines between his thick brows. “If this happens again, I expect you to transfer to another base immediately. Do you understand me?” 

Dimitr nodded, then spoke, his face solemn, his voice hesitant. “You do not want me to transfer now? I would understand and would not be angry.” He laid his head back on the pillow again. “I am so sorry. I did not mean to hurt you, Doktor.” 

Christof found his ire growing into righteous anger. “It was not just me that you harmed, Dimitri. You broke Eric’s arm when you threw him into a wall, and you knocked Murray out completely. Those acts are inexcusable. They were simply attempting to defend me.” He took a deep breath, getting his emotions back under control then, reaching down, began to undo the restraints around Dimitri’s large wrist. “I am going to let you up, and I expect that we shall fight together tomorrow. Remember my words, Dimitri. I am serious about this.” 

Dimitri nodded and when Medic was finished with the restraints, he swung his feet off the gurney and sat up, keeping his head bowed, his eyes on the floor. “May I go to my room, or do you need me for anything else, Doktor?” 

Christof shrugged. “I think that we are done here. I will see you tomorrow, at the locker room.” He turned his back and walked into his office, sitting down at his desk and picking up his pen once more. He tried to ignore the little voice in his head that was saying he’d been too hard on the other man. Finally, he lay the pen down and looked up, watching as Dimitri slid off the gurney and started for the door of the clinic. His shoulders were rounded, his head bowed under the weight of his shame. He paused for a moment, then pushed open the clinic’s door. 

“Dimitri?” He paused at the sound of the Doktor’s voice, his hand on the door, ready to bolt. “My name is Christof.”

Dimitri smiled, a small faint smile, barely visible unless you knew him. He stepped into the corridor, letting the door swing closed behind him. The man had given him his name. He felt lighter suddenly. “Yes, Christof.” It was barely a whisper, but he still muttered the words in the quiet hallway. After standing for a moment, lost in thought, he walked to his room, closing the door carefully behind him.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dimitri faces the team's anger over his previous actions and manages to redeem himself with an act that impresses even Christof! Good going, Dima!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much, Distasty, for your help and advice with this story. It's been a very long drawn out process, getting this one on paper.

Dimitri took a deep breath and squared his shoulders. The idle chatter of a pre-battle gathering of men was spilling from the locker room and into the hallway. He was going to have to walk in there and face them, after what he had done. “Come on, Dima,” he whispered, “walk tall. Do not let them see your fear. You are Heavy Weapons Guy and the strongest on this team.” With the internal pep talk out of the way, he hefted his gun and walked into the middle of the locker room, towering over every man there. Silence fell in the small room. 

Dimitri chose to ignore it, walking to his locker and sitting Natasha down on the bench in front. He took out his shotgun and slung it over his back, the leather strap sitting comfortably across his chest, soft and pliant from daily use. The brass knuckles went into his pocket, followed by a few rounds of ammo for the shotgun. He turned to the others and picked up Natasha once again, cradling the massive gun to his chest. 

One hand slipped over the gun’s well oiled form, almost a caress. “You,” he thought to himself, “at least have never failed me.” He glanced up from his inspection of the gun to find Eric’s wide blue eyes fixed on him. He smiled at the boy who turned away, the look on his face unforgiving. Dimitri took in a breath and blew it out through his nose. He’d known this would be hard. He would have expected no less. 

He could not hide his slight flinch when a hand gloved in soft leather fell onto his forearm. Aubert appeared beside him, the soft whoosh of his cloak dropping loud in the room. He smiled at Dimitri, a look of encouragement in his eyes. Dimitri paused, then smiled back. 

“They will forget. And then, all will be the same.” Aubert kept his voice low, speaking for Dimitri only. “Some new excitement will come along and suddenly you will be, once again, only a member of the team.” Aubert’s eyes were on his, and for a moment, Dimitri believed him. And that was when Christof, dressed as always, in crisp starched white, chose to step into the room. 

His eyes met Dimitri’s for a moment, hard and unforgiving behind his glasses and Dimitri dropped his head, unable to look at the man. He barely felt Aubert’s tight squeeze on his forearm. Walking to the front of the room, he stood by the heavy steel doors, waiting for them to lift so that he might forget himself in the rush of battle. 

***

The day had been hard, Dimitri often standing alone on a point, holding it while his team seemed to disappear around him. He groaned as he picked himself up from the respawn table one more time. He hated respawn. The sick grogginess of being reborn never completely left, no matter how many times you experienced it. And today he had been through it more times than he could count. With a sigh, he picked up his gun and strode back onto the field, determined to remain strong. 

The BLU Demo was lobbing grenades at something when Dimitri strode around the corner. He couldn’t see just what yet but from the sounds coming to his ears, someone was in trouble. He swung the shotgun from his shoulder, not wanting to waste ammo if he didn’t have to, and began to stride across the field, shots landing in the Demo’s body. The man looked up and cursed, then lobbed a few grenades, easily avoided, in Dimitri’s direction. When he realized the Heavy striding toward him wasn’t even slowing, the BLU Demo shouted a few random comments about parentage and ran. 

Dimitri walked slowly around the corner, shotgun at the ready, unsure what he would find. He was not expecting to find Eric, curled up in a corner, pistol held in one shaking hand. Dimitri lowered his gun and took another step, stopping when the pistol was not lowered. “Eric,” he began, “he is gone. We need to leave here.” He took another step, then stopped when the pistol, still shaking wildly, remained trained on him. 

“I’m not going anywhere with you.” The boy’s voice was pain filled but strong. “You’re as bad as they are, ya know. You’re the one who broke my arm after you killed Christof.” His face twisted in indignation. “The others might be okay with that, but I ain’t gonna forget it.” He winced as pain flared through him, causing the pistol to waver more. “I’ll die before I go with you. You’re probably just trying to get me somewhere so you can break my other arm while I can’t run.” His glance fell to his leg, a sliver of white bone peeking through bloody flesh. “I swear, you come one step closer and I’ll shoot you.”

Dimitri frowned and shook his head. “Eric, I did not mean to hurt you. I swear it. And I am sorry.” His voice was deep, gruff with emotion. “I was not in a good place. You do not understand.” He gasped and raised a hand as the boy put the barrel of the pistol to his head. “Please, let me get Medic to heal you. I will not touch you. Just, don’t do that.” He began to back away, watching the boy’s hard eyes the entire time. Slowly, the pistol was lowered and pointed at him again. Dimitri took in a deep breath and bellowed “MEDIC!” 

Eric stared at him for a moment, startled by the volume of the other man’s voice. He’d known the guy was big, but damn, that was loud. He watched as the Heavy backed away, hands raised and pulled his shotgun from his back once more. The big man took up a defensive stance at the entrance of the little cul de sac he’d found himself forced into when the enemy Demo had cornered him. He tried to stifle his groan of pain as he shifted slightly on the hard ground. He had to keep his eye on the damned Heavy, he thought to himself. The image of the man, in a fury, flinging him into a wall, played in his mind again. The flashes of blood and gore coating the wall in the kitchen would stay with him forever, he thought, watching the bigger man warily. He jumped, startled when Dimitri bellowed for a medic again. Eric sighed, wondering if the doctor would even come to the man. Christof didn’t typically hold a grudge, but being beaten to death would do that for a person. The minutes seemed to crawl past. Eric closed his eyes and leaned his head back on the rock behind him. He could feel himself getting light headed from blood loss. He sank further down into the dark, feeling like he was drifting at sea. 

Eric tried to open his eyes and protest as he felt himself picked up. The agonizing pain in his leg as it was swung over the ground brought a trembling shriek from his lips, but he couldn’t open his eyes. He groaned just as a sound like thunder reached his ears. “A storm?” he thought. “ That’s gonna be some shit to fight in.” Eric drifted back down into the darkness.

When he opened his eyes again, the pain was gone. His leg was stretched out in front of him, fully healed, the only traces of the wound were dried flakes of blood that drifted off his skin even as he watched. He looked around. Christof was bent over him, Medigun out, it’s pale red beam flashing over his body. He smiled tightly. “Hiya, Doc.” His eyes slid to the left, to the hulking form of Dimitri, standing in a doorway, Natasha trained on something outside, spun up and ready to fire. “What happened?”

“Dimitri carried you here, Eric.” Christof sighed. “I am not sure how he found me, in the battle, but he carried you through the entire BLU team to get you here. We are behind their lines. I do not know how we will get back to the rest of the team.” Frustration was evident in his voice. “I wish there was better news.” 

Eric grinned. “Hey, at least my leg feels better, Doc. It’ll be okay.” He let his glance slide to Dimitri, who was ignoring them both as he watched the field. “He really carried me here?” He thought back to the threat to shoot himself. “Bastard waited til I passed out. I knew I couldn’t trust him.” 

Christof shushed him. “Don’t say that. He somehow brought you through an entire defensive line. When he arrived here, with you in his arms, he was so riddled with bullets that I am not sure how he was walking.” He stood and looked down at the boy, face pale. “If anyone can get us back to the others, it will be Dimitri.” He was surprised by the words, even more surprised by the truth he could feel behind them. He looked over at the big man, still blocking the door with his body. “Now, if you are feeling better, perhaps we could plan our escape?” 

***

“The plan is not working!” Dimitri was yelling to be heard over the gunfire and explosions surrounding him. He could feel the glow of the beam, switching from him to Eric as the three fought their way forward, gaining perhaps an inch, only to be pushed back three. He kept his eyes ahead, seeing the sentry Jacob had set up, the nest he’d made. Their entire team was gathered there, trying to pull the BLU’s attention away from the three slowly creeping through what felt like an entire field of bullets and fire to reach them. “We need new plan, Doktor!” He roared as a rocket exploded nearby, a hail of small pebbles hitting him with the force of bullets, shrapnel flying and whistling past his ears. “How close to uber?” 

“Nearly there!” Christof, shielded behind the larger man’s body, was screaming also, the din of battle so loud that he could barely hear himself think. “Another moment!” He dodged as a pill went rolling past his feet, the resulting explosion nearly deafening him. “Less than a moment!” 

Eric, his leg healed from the break, dodged and darted to left and right, firing his shotgun at targets whenever possible and trying to stay in the path of the Heavy and Medic wading through the battle. 

“When you have uber, charge the boy. Both of you, run!” Dimitri took the time to reload Natasha, then took another step forward. He could see the sentry nest, so close. With uber, they would have time to run through the enemy, unstoppable, and reach it. 

“What about you?” Christof’s yell was nearly in his ear. He glanced over his shoulder at the doctor. “I will hold them, give you time to reach the nest.” He fired into the BLU Soldier, watching the man rocket jump behind them. It was about to become a two front battle, he thought, and that was not going to be much of a battle at all. 

Christof nodded. “I am fully charged!” He switched the gun’s beam from Dimitri to Eric and they both began to glow as the uber washed over them. “Run, Eric!” He took off, no longer bothering to dodge the bullets as he and the scout flew over the rocky terrain. 

Dimitri planted his feet, dropped Natasha into position and began to lay down covering fire. He screamed as the first precursors of the hail of bullets began to rip through him, no longer protected by the pain deadening glow of the Medigun. He did not flinch, eyes on the two running through the battle as he advanced against the bulletstorm. He stumbled, falling to his knees, the pain ripping through his torso in agonizing waves of fire and fury. He saw the others, so close to safety, saw Christof look over his shoulder and stumble as the red beam began to flicker. They were so close now! He clawed his way to his feet, roaring in agony, firing on the BLU as he staggered forward, one more step, then two, and then there was a pain in his head that eclipsed the other pains. He dropped, bonelessly limp, to the ground.

***

Dimitri woke to the white walls of respawn, one hand immediately going to his head, feeling for the wound that had been his downfall. His voice was a low rumble. “Did they make it?” His thoughts rolled around in his head, loose as marbles for a moment. He kept seeing Christof looking back at him, the expression on his face as he watched Dimitri fall. Had it been concern? Regret? He shook his head, trying to get his thoughts back in order. The battle. That was what mattered. He rolled off the table and reached for Natasha, his fingers closing around her comforting handle. Hefting her off the floor, he charged back out the door, heading for the sound of rockets and gunfire. 

He found the others gathered around a point, holding it, but barely. Spinning up Natasha, he stepped forward, watching BLU fighters scatter. Dimitri laughed, it was like mice from a cat, he thought to himself, watching them flee. He muttered under his breath as he stepped closer to Jacob’s dispenser, seeking the endless ammo and health that was to be had from one of the clever devices. 

As soon as there was a lull in the battle, he glanced over at Jacob, the man frantically repairing a sentry. “Did Doktor and Scout make it back safely?” He shouted to be heard over the banging of the wrench, his eyes scanning for enemies as he waited for a reply. 

Jacob glanced up from his recalibrations. “Yeah, they made it! Good job, Dimitri!” He turned back to his sentry, not seeing the look of satisfaction that spread over the big man’s face. At least it hadn’t been for nothing, he thought, feeling pride swell in his chest. With that pride glowing like a warm ember deep inside, he continued to fight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and Kudos are so appreciated guys, keep them coming!


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dimitri tries to protect Aubert from himself and ends up finding out that avoidance is not the best technique to use with a Spy. They always find you in the end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to Distasty, simply for being there when I need you, no matter what time it is.

The dream wrapped him like a shroud. He knew that it was a dream, but he could not wake up any more than he could stop the events that were flowing around him. Someone was screaming in the distance, and he could not reach them. The writhing body under him was a study in abstracts, pale skin, maroon blood splashed across hips and back. He wanted to find the source of the screams and silence them, but his body controlled him, hips pistoning forward, fingers clutching at and grinding in warm flesh. 

He whimpered and tried to pull away, but could not. He fought the dream, wanting to wake up but it was like being wrapped in heavy clouds of mist. The only thing clear to his eyes was the smooth curve of spine, bending forward beneath his weight, the creak of bones as he drove himself deeper and the pleasure, the god awful pleasure that was radiating up from his groin, like a fever miasma during an illness. The sensations were so real, so immediate that he bit his lip, blood dripping down his chin in a warm flow. Pale flesh, fever hot, wrapped his cock in lava, cold air against his shoulders and bare torso caused him to shiver. 

He watched in dull horror as his hands, so large, so strong, wrapped around a fragile neck, cupped a delicate skull and twisted. The snap of bone was like a gunshot, and the face of the man he was fucking was suddenly facing him. He stared in dull horror at the dimming eyes of the man who had held his hand when he was alone, who had offered to play chess with him when he was friendless. He could feel the Spy’s death throes sending his body into spasms, the tightening and releasing of the man’s hot walls around his cock as those lovely blue eyes clouded over. Dimitri came so hard it woke him up. 

Dimitri screamed. “Aubert!” His voice rang from the walls like a bell, echoing through the empty halls of the silent base as he was jerked from his restless dreaming and into the cold wakefulness of a false dawn. He clamped his hand over his mouth, attempting to stifle his sobs. “Aubert…” His voice trailed off in a whisper as his mind tried to make sense of what he had dreamed and, more importantly perhaps, why. 

***

Aubert had been looking for Dimitri for days now. It wasn’t that he’d lost the Heavy, they saw each other on the battlefield, but he hadn’t come to play chess lately and when he did see him on the battlefield, or in the locker room, the big man eyed him like a spooked horse eyes a fluttering handkerchief. Aubert snorted at the mental image of Dimitri, eyes wide and rolling with fear, backing away like a frightened animal. It was accurate though. Aubert sighed, pushing down the thin film of irritation caused by the big man’s actions. 

Three days ago, or was it four, he’d walked into the locker room and said hello. Dimitri’s immediate response had been to back away as though he had a snake in his pocket. He’d simply grown warier as the days had passed. He seemed to be actively avoiding the Spy, leaving rooms as the other entered, making certain to not be found in their old haunts. Aubert had thought at first that he’d offended the big man somehow, but he was starting to wonder if there wasn’t more to it. 

And now, he was nowhere to be found. Aubert had been to all the common areas, no one on the team had seen Dimitri, had been to his room and knocked on the door repeatedly. He sighed. When he’d gotten no response, he may have picked the lock and checked for himself. The room was empty. That left only two places, the building’s roof, or the forest surrounding it. He climbed the three flights of stairs to the roof and stepped out onto the flat surface. There didn’t appear to be anyone there but he decided that a stroll around the place would not harm him a bit. 

Halfway around, he found Dimitri. The big man was sitting on the waist high ledge, feet dangling. He did not seem in the least concerned about falling. Aubert scuffed his feet on the roof, making sure not to startle the big man as he approached him. 

Dimitri turned his head at the sound of approaching footsteps and his face, so serene when he’d turned around, twisted into frown lines. “Oh, it’s you.” He sighed and turned back to the view of the mountains before him. “I was not expecting anyone.” 

Aubert bit back the sharp response to the man’s words and walked up beside him, placing his crossed arms on the parapet of the roof and leaning forward. “Hello, Dimitri. How are you?” 

Dimitri took a deep breath, the air whistling through his nose. He continued to stare out over the forest, not answering for a long moment, seeming to be putting his thoughts in order. “I am fine. Why are you here, Aubert?” He shifted on the wall, big hands gripping the edge so hard his knuckles turned white. He did not look over at the Spy standing beside him. 

Aubert sighed. He should be used to the man's bluntness by now, but he found that, when he was the object of his scorn, it disturbed him. He paused for a moment, controlling the timbre of his voice then spoke, choosing his words carefully. “I came to apologize.” Dimitri started at the words, nearly falling off the wall. “Whatever I have done, I did not mean to offend you. And,” he paused, “I have missed our chess games.” 

Dimitri turned on the wall, his eyes boring into the Spy. He had been so shocked to hear those words coming from the other man’s mouth. His voice came out too harsh, too angry. “Do not ever apologize to me, Aubert.” He softened his voice, trying to contain his shock and fury. “No one on this team ever needs to apologize to me. I will not have it.” He sank into himself, shoulders slumping, seeming lost in melancholy. 

Aubert stared at him, wide eyed surprise apparent on his face. “What does that mean to you, Dimitri?” He tilted his head to the side, puzzled. “I know about your past, but what does it mean to apologize?” 

Dimitri turned on him with a snarl. “Drop the matter, Spy. It means nothing.” He frowned and turning his body, slid off the wall and to the rooftop. “I am leaving. I do not want to talk about this with you.” He shook his head violently. “It is not right.”

Aubert ran after him, laying an arm on his hand, not attempting to hold him back, simply to let him know that he wanted him to stop. “Dimitri, please...” The irritation surged to the fore suddenly, and Aubert found himself saying exactly what he was thinking. “I have had enough of this avoidance and this angst. You are like a child, pouting over the smallest thing. The least you could do is be man enough to tell me what is wrong!” 

Dimitri made it three more steps before his momentum slowed and he came to a stop. “Fine. You would like to know what is wrong, you nosy little Spy? I don’t want to play chess with you. I am tired of it, the game is witless and boring, like the person who suggested it!”

Aubert drew back, feeling anger flare at Dimitri's cutting words. “Oh, so I am the one who is witless and boring? Have you ever stopped to think about how I feel, keeping company with the only person the entire team despises? At least I’ve never beaten someone to death over two aspirin!” He took a deep breath, cheeks flushed with anger under the mask. How dare he, Aubert thought to himself, before realizing that he had more to say. “And furthermore, I don’t think that is the problem at all. I think that you are afraid of me!” 

He stepped closer, eyes flashing. “You have been avoiding me for days now. Did you ever stop to think that you are not the only one in this friendship, that perhaps I have a say also in it?” He poked Dimitri in the chest. “Did it ever occur to you, you big imbecile, that this is not normal behavior for people? To be able to simply ignore other people when you want, no matter how bad it makes them feel?” Aubert realized that he was shouting now, and made a concerted effort to lower his voice. “But that would not matter to you, would it? All you have ever had to think about was yourself and where your next fix was coming from.” 

Dimitri frowned down at the finger poking into his chest then swept it aside angrily. “You really think that I am so selfish, Aubert? How like a Spy, to think that!” He turned away, suddenly tired of arguing. 

“Then what are you so afraid of, Dimitri? Honestly, what is your problem?” Aubert knew that he was pushing too hard but he could not seem to stop his intolerable mouth. He reached out and grabbed Dimitri by the shoulder, using the bigger man’s momentum to spin him around. 

Dimitri stared down at him, shocked by the move, and suddenly his eyes narrowed, his voice low and cold. “I dreamed about you. I dreamed that you were under me, that I was fucking you.” He smiled, menace evident in every line of his body,shifting to loom over Aubert. “Does that flatter you, little man? To think about me, dreaming of your pale body?” 

“Is that what frightens you? To think of me in your bed?” Aubert frowned, a coquettish pout on his lips, sarcasm dripping from his tone. “Or does it frighten you to think that you would enjoy that, without being high? He snorted. Aubert stepped forward, one hand raised, ignoring the way Dimitri flinched back, as though avoiding a blow. He ran his fingertips lightly down the stubble roughened jaw, noting the feel of the sharp, angular bones under his fingers. “I cannot say the idea of you dreaming of me is displeasing.” He looked deep into the other’s eyes, lips tilting upward in a smile. “Is that why you have been avoiding me? Because I might be offended?” His voice lilted, teasing. “Or is it fear that I would say yes, Dimitri?” There was a challenge in his eyes as the words dropped from his lips. 

Dimitri’s lips turned up, the smile cold, not reaching his eyes. “Would it make you nervous to know that I came so hard I screamed when I snapped the weak bones of your neck, cracked your fragile skull between my fingers?” He stepped back a pace, watching Aubert’s face as the hand hung useless in the air between them, the other too stunned to drop it. 

“And then you search me out, you come to me when I am alone, no one around to protect you, and you offer to apologize to me? To drop to your knees in front of me and” he paused, sarcasm deep in the next word, “beg?” Dimitri stepped forward, his stance menacing as he loomed over the Spy once more. “You think that your chess games would protect you from me? That your honeyed words would keep you safe?” His voice dropped, barely a growl now. “You are so wrong, Aubert. I will destroy you.”

Aubert sensed that showing fear would be a lethal mistake.. He stared up into Dimitri’s face, very aware of how alone they were, how the others would not hear him screaming.Taking a deep breath, he stepped forward, his chest now pressed to Dimitri’s and raised his hand again, tracing a finger over the other man’s mouth. “I think that being your friend would keep me safe.” He barely had time to draw a breath as Dimitri’s huge hand cupped the back of his skull, his lips pressing against Aubert’s, their teeth clicking together hard. Aubert gasped at the sudden pressure and the dull pain as his lip was split, a trickle of blood oozing into their commingled mouths. 

Dimitri pulled back suddenly, his hand tightening on Aubert’s neck,holding him motionless. He leaned forward, licking at the trickle of blood that flowed from the smaller man’s split lip and across his chin. Aubert shivered slightly at the look in his eyes, it was lust and danger and death, laser focused on him alone. He moaned at the frisson of excitement that flowed from that look and straight to his cock, making it twitch and harden. Dimitri’s hand cupped his groin, the heat spreading through the thin fabric of his trousers and seeming to ignite a fire in his gut. Aubert wrapped a hand around Dimitri’s wrist, pressing his hand closer.

Aubert’s mouth opened once more, Dimitri’s tongue slid inside,gentler this time, although not by much, exploring, licking over his teeth and slipping between them to dance across his tongue. Aubert groaned out loud, his eyes closing and suddenly, those huge hands were on his shoulders, turning him, ripping at his clothing, pressing him down on the roof, the sharp bits of gravel embedded there biting into his knees. Those huge hands were running over him, caressing him and he could feel himself growing harder. He moaned as a finger slipped between his cheeks, running over his tight pucker and drew in a gasping breath at the spit soaked invasion that followed. 

Aubert shuddered and bucked under Dimitri’s hands, the heat soaking into his blood and setting a fire in his groin. He pressed back against the fingers opening him, stretching him, biting his lip to keep from begging the bigger man for more. When Dimitri was satisfied that he’d been opened enough, he pressed the head of his cock against Aubert’s hole and slid inside, one smooth thrust sheathing him entirely. Aubert bit harder on his lip, the coppery taste of blood on his tongue as his body stretched to accommodate the man kneeling behind him. He groaned out loud as a huge hand wrapped around him, stroking him, easing the burning behind with pleasure. 

Dimitri stared down at the smooth curve of Aubert’s spine, the heaving of his ribs, and he ran his free hand over them. Dimitri closed his eyes and offered a prayer to a God that he had given up on long ago. Carefully, he began to move inside the other man. After the exquisite pleasure of that first full thrust, Dimitri moaned out loud, his voice a low pleasured rumble that could almost be mistaken for a purr. 

Aubert began to rock back against him, seeking more. Dimitri wrapped his hand around the Spy’s hip, his other gripping a shoulder and pulling the smaller man back hard against him. He began to rock more frantically inside the tight walls of Aubert’s ass, his voice deepening and spreading through his chest in a low hum as he closed his eyes. He did not notice Aubert lifting one hand, stroking himself, moving in time to the other’s thrusts. Aubert groaned, he could feel himself tearing, the burning pain mingling with the pleasure of Dimitri’s thrusts against his prostate. He jerked himself harder, hand tightening, knuckles white as he began to pant. 

Suddenly the hand on his shoulder squeezed down, hard enough to leave bruises that would take weeks to fade. Aubert cried out, the sharp pain mingling with pleasure just enough to send him to the edge and over as Dimitri heaved inside him, his cock twitching and pumping him full. Aubert spilled into the tattered remains of his clothing, pooled on the roof under him with a low curse. He grunted as Dimitri collapsed on him, driving them both prone onto the roof. At last, Dimitri rolled off him and Aubert sucked in a deep breath, happy to be able to breathe freely again. He muttered under his breath as Dimitri leaned up on an elbow and looked over the length of his body. 

“You are bleeding.” The rough voice was a low rumble, concerned. 

“I am fine.” Aubert took a deep breath, rolling onto his back. “Exhausted. Sated. But fine.” He looked at the man looming over him and suddenly, he began to laugh. Dimitri stared at him for a moment, a look of pure puzzlement on his face but the laughter was infectious. The corners of his mouth twitched, then turned up at the corners and suddenly, he was chuckling, first quietly, then louder and louder. Dimitri rolled onto his back, staring up at the evening sky, a warm feeling of contentment filling his chest. He smiled as Aubert’s laughter died to a chuckle   
beside him. For the moment, the world was a good place to be in.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When learning to skate leads to bad things... Dimitri has a long heart to heart with Aubert, getting some things off his chest and Aubert gives him some different things to consider.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much, Distasty, for re reading this and for helping me revisit my punk past! LOL, fun times...

Dima rolled to the side, then sat up, looking longingly at his bed for a moment before heaving himself to his feet and heading for the showers. Yesterday, he thought to himself, a smile curving the corners of his lips up, I did not kill anyone. The smile broadened. I had sex with a man, and no one died or had to be healed. His thoughts turned to Aubert, to how he’d moaned and flexed under his hands, and to the pleased look in his eyes afterwards. He chuckled out loud at the thought of the man, cloaked in invisibility to avoid the proverbial walk of shame, stalking naked through the halls of the base, his tattered clothing held in a bundle under his arm, cursing under his breath the entire time. Dima frowned suddenly, examining his emotional state more closely. “Is this happiness?” he muttered to himself, his brows furrowing. Suddenly, a blur of red and tangled arms and legs hit him right in the chest. 

Dima grunted and grabbed the Scout, still trying to move and untangle himself and mostly only succeeding in falling all over them both. He held tightly, but not too tightly, giving the boy time to find his balance and stand shakily on his feet. “What are you doing, Scout?” Dima looked down at the boy, his hands brushing his clothing, checking limbs to make sure they were all intact. The gaze traveled further down, to the Scout’s feet. “Are you wearing skates?” The question was inane, the proof on the boy’s feet. 

Dimitri stared down at him, one hand on his upper arm, holding him steady. “Does the Doktor know what you are doing, Eric?” He frowned, his eyes going from the boy’s crazy grin to his wheeled feet and back again. He looked down at the floor, smooth concrete, perfect for skating on. “You do know how to skate, right?” 

Scout shrugged. “Nah, but it can’t be that hard, right? I mean, chicks dig guys who can skate, and I can move, so this should come easy.” He frowned down at his feet. “Just as soon as I figure out how to balance, anyway.” 

Dimitri shook his head and pulled Scout over to the wall, leaning him against it. “Watch.” Planting his feet shoulder width apart, he dropped his body a bit, into a high squat. “This is the position for keeping balance in skates.” He glanced over at the boy, correcting the position of one of his legs by lifting it and placing it down an inch or so to the left. Eric yelped and grabbed onto his back as his foot was lifted. 

Dimitri ducked out from under his hands, laughing softly. “I will not let you fall. Now,” he began to move his feet, a sliding forward motion. “Like this, slowly.” He reached out and placed one hand under Eric’s elbow as the boy began to move forward, slowly at first, then beginning to gain speed. Eric looked over at him, face wreathed in smiles as he glided forward. “I’m doing it! I’m doing it!” He was shouting excitedly, not noticing the pebble on the concrete flooring in front of him.

Dimitri shouted something, but it was too late, Eric hit the stone and his balance was lost. He toppled, arms and legs pinwheeling, right into Dimitri who was reaching for him to stop his fall. They both went down in a tangle of limbs, Eric yelping out loud as Dimitri landed on him. He immediately began pushing at the weight pinning him down, yelling “Get offa me!” at the top of his lungs. 

Just at that moment, Christof and the team’s Demo, Seamus, walked around the corner, attracted by the cries. Seeing the Heavy laying on top of the Scout, limbs entangled, Christof immediately assumed the worst and, grabbing Dimitri by the back of his shirt, began to pull hard, choking him. He raised his fist, sending it crashing into the back of Dimitri’s skull, dazing him. 

Dimitri shook his head and tried to get the stars to stop dancing in front of his eyes. With a muttered oath, he tried to stand, pushing himself off the Scout far enough for Seamus to grab the boy and start sliding him out from under Dimitri. That was all Christof needed to see. He dropped his entire weight on Dimitri’s back, smashing him into the floor. Dimitri bucked under him, trying to get the weight off his back, but Christof held tight, hands going around Dimitri’s throat in a chokehold. 

Dimitri, his breathing constricted, tried to get his feet under him, succeeding only in a crablike scramble across the floor. Eric was on his feet by now, Seamus holding him up as the skates tried to throw him repeatedly. He was yelling at Christof, trying to grab onto the Medic and haul him off the Heavy. Seamus had his hands full just holding the boy back and up, trying to keep him from hitting the floor a second time. 

That was the chaos Aubert and Jacob walked into. They rounded a corner, heading for the rec room, and found the tangled mass of people brawling in the hallway. Aubert gasped in surprise and reached for Jacob, pulling the distracted man back just in time to avoid being mown down by Dimitri on his awkward scrabble down the hallway. 

Without thinking, Aubert grabbed Christof and hauled him backwards, pulling him off Dimitri’s back and into a tight hold, letting the man struggle uselessly as Dimitri grabbed the wall and pulled himself to his feet. “What the hell happened?” He turned, glaring at the struggling doctor in Aubert’s arms. Jacob stepped in front of the man, hands up. “Now, Dimitri, I’m sure there’s a good explanation for this.” 

Eric, leaning against Seamus, yelled suddenly. “Hey, Aubert! The doc came around the corner and attacked him! He was teaching me to skate and the first thing I know, Christof’s all over him!” 

Aubert frowned, looking to Christof, still struggling in his arms. “Is this true, Christof? Did you attack Dimitri?”

Christof stopped struggling. “I heard Eric screaming and when I walked around the corner, Dimitri was on top of Eric, pinning him to the floor. I didn’t know what was happening. I thought he was attacking the boy! Just like he attacked me!” Christof shrugged out of Aubert’s arms, straightening his jacket, attempting to regain his dignity. “It was what anyone would think.” He glared around at all of them. Who would think any differently if they saw that?” 

Aubert sighed. “So, it was a misunderstanding, Christof. That is what you are trying to say, right?”

Christof finally nodded. “Yes, a misunderstanding.” He glanced toward Dimitri, then away, his pride wounded by the way the other men were looking at him. 

Dimitri stepped forward finally, towering over the doctor in the hallway. He frowned as the smaller man cringed a bit, as though expecting to be hit. Dimitri held out his hand, offering it to the doctor to shake. “I am sorry we frightened you, Christof.” He carefully kept his voice formal, not allowing any of his ire to seep into it. “I was simply showing Eric how to balance and when he fell, I fell also. It was my clumsiness.”

Christof looked up, eyes widening in surprise at the calm manner the other displayed. “It wasn’t your fault, Dimitri.” He carefully cleared his throat. “I should not have assumed the worst when I saw you there. It is no one’s fault.” He smiled tentatively. “I did not know you could roller skate.” 

Dimitri dropped his hand. “I cannot. Ice skate is not that different though. And I can skate on ice.” He chuckled. “It would be hard to live in Russia, if not able to skate on ice. There is so much of it.” He looked away, not wanting them to see the resentment in his eyes. With a heave of his shoulders, he turned away. 

“Hey, wait!” Eric called from behind him. Dimitri looked over his shoulder. “I need to go, Eric. I will teach you later.” He hurried down the hall, trying to bite down the bitter taste of anger. Footsteps rushed after him and he stopped when he felt a hand on his shoulder. He turned to look down at Aubert. 

“Dimitri. Please, wait a moment.” Aubert looked up at him, sadness written across his face. “Christof made you angry, didn’t he?”

Dimitri shook his head. “I made myself angry. I’m the one who has proven to be an untrustworthy teammate, not him. He had every right to attack me in the middle of the hallway for no real reason.” 

Aubert pulled back a bit. “Sarcasm is unbecoming, Dimitri. No matter how justified.” He sighed. “Would you like to go to my room and talk for a moment?” He gestured with one hand in the general direction of his quarters. “I promise it will make you feel better to talk this out with someone.”

Dimitri sighed and followed him down the hallway. When they came to the door of Aubert’s room, he unlocked it and ushered Dimitri in. The chess set in the corner was set up, ready for the next game, the bed, as always, was neatly made, and there was not a single item out of place. Dimitri sighed and sat down in the chair by the table, taking up a pawn and rolling it around in his hand. He placed it carefully down, and Aubert, reading his mood, sat on the opposite chair, contemplating the board for a moment. 

When he finally moved his pawn, he glanced up at Dimitri. “It was not fair, what Christof accused you of.” He watched Dimitri’s face shift, the heavy brows drawing together, the corners of his mouth tensing up. 

“No. It was not fair. But not unexpected, Aubert. If you did not know me better, you would have thought the same.” He glanced up, then moved another of his pieces, fingers hovering over the board. “It is no more than I deserve.” 

Aubert sighed and, resting his elbow on the table, leaned his chin on his fist. “Do you know what a self fulfilling prophecy is, Dimitri?” 

Dimitri frowned. “I do. Are you saying that I am making myself dispicable to everyone around me?” He glanced down at the board, then back up. “Or are you saying that, if people keep expecting me to be a monster, I will have no other choice?” He sighed and moved his knight. “It does not matter, Aubert. People see me and the first thing they notice is my size. It has always been like this, even when I was a child. And then, one of two things happens. People either get that scared look in their eyes, or they feel the need to challenge me, to see which of us is the “top dog” as the Americans say.” Leaning back in his chair, he sighed. “No one ever says, “Oh, let me take the time to get to know this man. To see what he thinks and how he feels. It’s simply about challenge or fear.” 

Aubert frowned at him. “If that were true, would we be sitting here playing chess, Dimitri?” He reached out and rested his hand atop the bigger mans. “Would we have had insane fight sex on the roof yesterday?” He smiled at the reminder, then rested his hand back in his lap.

“You are a spy. You are trained to hide your emotions.” Dimitri sighed and looked down at the table. “As for the sex, that should never have happened. I have no desire to hurt you, and I could have.” He frowned. “I wanted to.”

“But you did not.” Aubert tipped his head toward Dimitri. “And that is what matters, Dimitri. We all have dark urges. We are mercenaries. We live lives steeped in violence and it tends to bleed over into the other aspects of our lives. However, you controlled that urge to harm me, and you controlled your strength. Not me, not anyone else. Just you.” He leaned back in his chair. “My point is proven. You are not a monster. And what Christof did was unfair to you. And uncalled for. You have proven yourself repeatedly.” He sighed, rubbing his temples with both hands. “This whole mess gives me a headache. Let me see if I understand this.” 

Aubert took a deep breath. “You have been intimidating your entire life and no one wants anything to do with you. And as for me, I have lied to you the entire time you’ve been on this base, leading you to think that I am not frightened of you when, in fact, I am terrified?” Frown lines crossed his brow and he took a sip of his wine. “Doesn’t that seem like a good bit of work to go through, when I could have just avoided you?” He moved a bishop, taking control of the board once again. 

Dimitri bit down on his lip, seeming to be lost in thought as he stared at the board. Finally, he spoke. “I would not have put it like that, but I think you have some things wrong. First, because I am large, there are people who want me. That is how I became a mercenary. These people want to control my strength and use me like a weapon.” He closed his eyes. “That is how I ended up with Medic. My medic, not Christof. And I have to be very careful to avoid falling into that trap again. But yes, the people on this base do not trust me. Even you, my friend. If you had walked around the corner earlier, would you have thought, “Oh, look, Dimitri is helping Eric learn to skate?” No, you would not have. You would have thought, “Oh, look, Dimitri is hurting Eric. I must help Eric.” And that is what Christof thought, whether right or wrong. That is what led him to attack me.” He sighed. “I can understand it, I would have thought the same if I’d walked around the corner and found someone laying on top of Eric in the middle of the hallway. But it does not make it hurt less.” He rubbed the top of his hand, massaging an old ache in his knuckles. “It is what it is, but it does not make it right.” 

He looked up then, his fingers hovering over his queen. “Life is not fair, Aubert.” He picked up the piece, sitting it down several squares from its previous position. “Checkmate.” Dimitri smiled, leaning back in his chair. “Sometimes all you can do is accept that.” 

Aubert frowned, studying the board. “I don’t know how you always manage to win, Dimitri.” He leaned back also. “But I cannot argue with the facts.” He sighed. “I don’t know how to help you, but I wish there was something I could do to change this.” 

Dimitri shook his head. “There’s nothing you can do. It is what it is. I am who I am. We must all learn to live with our faults.” He sighed, his hand going to the chessboard, returning the pieces to their original positions. He stopped moving when Aubert’s hand cupped over his, the warmth of that touch washing over him. He cocked his head to the side and looked at the Spy, puzzled but not pulling back from him. 

Aubert stood and walked around the table, his hand never leaving Dimitri’s. He stopped when he stood in front of the other man, his slim form bracketed by Dimitri’s knees. When sitting, he was level with Aubert’s chest, and Aubert planned to use this to his advantage. Reaching out with his free hand, he caressed the side of Dimitri’s face, fingers noting the small scars previous wounds, the rough feel of stubble on his jawline. “Kiss me, Dimitri.” He tilted Dimitri’s head up, smiled down at him. 

Aubert leaned down, his lips gently brushing over the other man’s tender warmth. He sighed, the feel of hot breath against his own flesh raising a need in him that he hoped Dimitri would answer. Slowly, he slid his free hand around the Heavy’s broad back, pulling him closer, his lips pressing downward, tongue teasing at the seam of the other’s mouth until he opened for him. He moaned softly into the larger man’s mouth, their tongues dancing together. 

Aubert took the larger man’s hand and tugged gently, leading him from the chair to the bed and gently pressing him downward. Dimitri sat on the edge of the bed, his anxiety showing in the way his fingers twisted together, but he didn’t say no, simply remained still, perched on the edge. Aubert stood between his legs, his fingers went to the buttons holding bright red and black flannel closed across Dimitri’s chest. He worked the buttons through the tiny holds with ease, his eyes lighting up at the sight of that broad expanse of naked flesh underneath. 

Aubert smoothed his fingers down that chest, the ropes of muscle, padded by a layer of softness quivering at his touch. He smiled down at Dimitri. “I want you. I want you laid back on my bed, your moans filling the air, your hands on my body as you fuck me.” His lips curled up at the effect those words had on the other man, as hands tentatively touched him, that touch becoming more demanding as Dimitri gained more confidence, less fear of being rejected. He could feel his own hardness straining against the seams of his slacks as Dimitri guided him his zipper down, leaned forward and engulfed that hardness in his hungry mouth. 

The next hour was lost in moans of pleasure, panting breath and sighs of contentment as Aubert showed his new lover how to touch gently, how to know if someone was pleased or not, how to read body language and respond to it. When the two at last lay back on the now rumpled bed, eyes closed, recovering, Aubert reached over and took his hand, squeezing it tightly. “A nap, before dinner?” He let his eyes close, barely registering the arm that went around him, holding him protectively as Dimitri also fell asleep.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a day in the life, and some hard realizations for both Dimitri and Aubert at the end of the day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to Distasty for being there when I need help. This is probably the hardest to write story yet. Your advice has been invaluable.

Dimitri woke up in a strange bed, an unfamiliar warmth pooling next to him. He rolled over and looked at the man lying there, the soft sheets framing his sleep smoothed face. “Aubert.” He checked that the smaller man’s chest was rising and falling, then breathed a sigh of relief. He didn’t remember hurting him, but memory was a tricky thing at best. Dimitri smiled, the expression out of place on the harsh planes of his face, then slid toward the edge of the bed. He didn’t know what time it was, but a shower and a change of clothes would be welcome before dinner. 

Just as he reached the edge and sat up, a calloused hand closed around his wrist, warm brown eyes met his own and a sleepy smile curved soft pink lips upwards. “Leaving already?” He looked down at the thumb stroking the inside of his wrist. “I was hoping for an encore.” Dimitri’s smile broadened and he lay back down. The shower could wait. Hell, dinner could wait, he decided, losing himself in the warmth of another person’s touch, the peace that came to his mind just for a little while. 

***  
The next morning, breakfast was a hasty affair, and as he strode across the field, he could catch the occasional whiff of Aubert’s scent on his hands or in his clothing. He was content, those small smells reminding him that he had made love, that no one had gotten hurt, and that, if the little gasps and sighs were to be believed, the man had enjoyed himself immensely. He was not prepared when, during their brief break for lunch, Christof sat beside him. 

“I owe you an apology, Dimitri.” Christof glanced at him, then away again. “I overreacted yesterday, and I was wrong.” He sighed, then turned to offer a cookie, carefully wrapped in tissue paper. “Jacob baked them for me.” He smiled. “They are very good. Please, have one.” 

Dimitri took a cookie and bit into it, his eyes closing for a moment as the complex flavors washed over his tongue. He made an appreciative noise. “Very good cookie. Chocolate, cinnamon, and something else?” His tone was questioning. “I’m not sure what though.” 

Medic grinned and bit into his own cookie. “He won’t tell me. Or anyone. However, he makes the best cookies on either base.” He chewed thoughtfully. “No hard feelings?” 

Dimitri started to reply when his eyes were caught by a movement behind Christof. Eric was walking toward them, but something was off with his gait. It wasn’t the usual springy step, but more of a sliding walk, to keep footsteps silent. Dimitri frowned, watching the Scout from the corner of his eye. His hand clutched his shotgun, Christof’s eyes followed the movement of his hand downward. 

“Dimitri?” His voice was questioning, his eyes growing wider. As the big man raised the gun, he dropped to the side, his cookie crumbling. Dimitri fired over his shoulder, the blast catching the BLU Spy and lifting him off his feet. The body crumpled to the ground and Christof, cursing, stood, brushing crumbs and dust from himself. “Damn it! I really love these cookies!” He turned and looked at the dead Spy, eyes narrowed. “He always shows up at the worst times. Thank you, Dimitri.” Christof sat down again, picking the crumbs of his cookie from the ground before frowning and dropping them again, brushing his hands off. “Scheisse.” 

Dimitri tried to hide his grin as he broke his own cookie in two, handing half to the irate Medic who accepted with a chagrined look. He sighed. “How can you be such a good person, Dimitri? I don’t understand. I’m not sure I would have noticed the Spy, much less shared my cookie with the man who attempted to assault me yesterday.” 

Dimitri shrugged, chewing thoughtfully. “I’m not a good man, Doktor. I am trying to become a better man than I was, though.” He smiled broadly, feeling the color rise to his cheeks. “With help, of course.” 

Christof eyed him for a moment, wondering how much he could say, how much of the other man’s personal life he could comment on before the bigger man grew offended. “I am very fond of Jacob.” He ventured hesitantly. “He makes me want to become a better person. I am assuming that you and Aubert have reached an agreement along those same lines?” 

Dimitri could feel his cheeks turning pinker, the blush spreading down his face and across his neck. He didn’t understand the reaction, he was not ashamed of the fact that Aubert was his lover or whatever the Spy was, but he could feel himself grinning broadly. At last, with a curt nod in acknowledgement of the question, he popped the last of the cookie in his mouth and stood. “We should get back to the fight. Lunchtime is over, Doktor.” He hefted Natasha and strode away, leaving Christof to chuckle over the prominent blush that still covered the big man’s cheeks. Finishing the last of his cookie slowly, he stood and followed his Heavy back onto the field. 

***

Dimitri had thought to spend the evening with Aubert but Eric found him first, insisting that they spend some time learning to skate. He’d warned the rest of the team, he said, and soon had Dimitri laughing uproariously at his efforts and his talk of “chicks”. Dimitri shook his head at last and sat down on the concrete floor of the base, motioning for Eric to sit beside him. Reaching into the cooler that Eric had brought, he pulled out two sodas and twisted the metal tops off easily, handing one to the boy. 

“Why do you think that you need to learn to skate to impress girls?” He glanced curiously at the boy, taking a deep drink from his bottle. 

“Because.” Eric looked down at the floor for a moment, then back up. “If I tell you something, promise you won’t laugh?” He shifted his gaze away, staring at the wall across from them. “Girls don’t like me. They go for big guys, like you and Seamus and the Doc.” He chuckled. “When we go to town, the girls fall over themselves to talk to them, and I sit in the corner, by myself.” He frowned. “I try to talk to them, but they just roll their eyes and go somewhere else.” He looked back at Dimitri. “And our last Heavy, he had to beat the girls off with sticks. It was crazy.” He tried to keep the envy from his tone, but it crept in. “Kind of embarrassing, really.” 

Eric looked down at his arms, slender but toned, and the rest of his body, a runner’s body, muscled but lithe. “I’m not a big guy, like you all. That’s what girls like.” 

Dimitri tried to keep the smile from his face. “Girls don’t like big guys. They like to talk, Eric. They like to have conversations. Try asking them about their favorite colors, flowers, movies, things like that. Then the girls will flock to you also.” 

Eric glanced over at him, doubtful. “You really think so? I mean, that’s pretty much what Aubert said too, but I thought he was just making it up, ya know?” Eric was picking at his hand wraps, and the movement caught the big man’s attention. Dimitri reached over suddenly and put his hand over the boy’s, stopping him. “Don’t do that.” He frowned, reminded of another Scout, one whose name he did not know. He’d had the same habit though, picking at the wraps on his hands when nervous. Dimitiri squeezed his eyes closed, trying not to think of the other boy, the one he’d hurt so badly, for so long. 

Dimitri stood quickly, his good mood suddenly vanished behind a deep well of regret. “I have to go, Scout. Is time for bed.” He walked down the hallway, ignoring the bottle of soda he’d accidentally kicked over, ignoring the boy yelling after him, ignoring everything until he was in his room with the door safely locked behind him. 

***

Dimitri sat on the bed with a sigh. Closing his eyes, he rubbed his forehead with his fingers, trying to will away the growing headache that was centered there. He frowned, opened his eyes again and, walking to his desk, he picked up the bottle of vodka sitting on the top. He’d not had a drink in days. He tilted the bottle to his lips then walked back to his bed with it, pulling his boots off and settling down atop the covers. 

“You are a good bottle.” He crooned to it, the idiocy of talking to a vodka bottle not lost on him. “You keep me company when I need you, but you don’t do stupid things like pick at your tape or goad me into fucking you.” He stopped suddenly, looking down at the bottle. “Vodka, I did not think about raping Scout today!” He chuckled, replaying the incident with Eric once more. “No, there was no thought of sex with him! I am cured!” He frowned down at the bottle. “This was Aubert’s work. I know it.” He lapsed into silence, staring at the wall. 

Since he’d first had Aubert, that evening on the roof, he’d been mellower, calmer. He’d not wanted to hurt anyone, the dreams had all but gone away. He frowned. Was it because he cared for the Spy, or was it simply because he was sated? Dimitri took another drink of the vodka, lost in thought. 

Did Aubert actually care for him or was he simply taking one for the team, as the Americans would say? He searched his memory for specific instances of Aubert caring for him, recalling a soft brush of his sleeve in the heat of battle, an enemy dropping when he targeted Dimitri too many times. There was the evening he’d come in and found a chocolate lying on his pillow, the morning he’d found a container in the refrigerator with his name on it. The man did care. He’d shown that, over and over again. Dimitri sank down into his pillow, comforted, curling his arms around the bottle, allowing his eyes to drift closed. 

***

Aubert looked both ways, not wanting anyone to see him bent over, picking the lock to Dimitri’s door. He tried to avoid invading his team mates privacy but, after hearing what Eric had said about Dimitri’s run down the hallway, he felt this was warranted. He did not worry about the man being angry with him, he would simply deal with that. 

Aubert stepped inside as soon as the door opened, closing it quickly behind him. There was no point in cloaking, he was, as far as he knew, the only person on the base who would pick this particular lock. He looked around in the semi darkness, the over the sink light in the small bathroom casting a strip of brightness down the center of the concrete floor. All appeared to be in order, the tidiness he’d come to associate with Dimitri had not been disturbed. 

He stepped lightly over to the bed and looked down, smiling at the sight. Dimitri was curled into a tight ball, holding his bottle like some weird Russian version of a teddy bear. Shaking his head, fighting back a silent chuckle, he stepped back into the gloom, just watching. He could feel his breath catch as he watched that huge chest rise and fall, a strange feeling that he’d not had in ages. He was growing attached to the big man, perhaps too attached. 

Aubert frowned and chastised himself. Honestly, he was not going anywhere in the near future, so what did it matter if he allowed himself to indulge in softer emotions, to feel for this man? He’d been alone for many years, protecting himself from the hurt of having to lie to lovers, of having to move on when his duty called him elsewhere. But now, things were different. He leaned over suddenly and brushed his lips across the bigger man’s forehead, smiling when the Heavy stirred in his sleep and reached a grasping hand out for him. Fading into the darkness, Aubert slipped out the door and into his own room, contemplating this new realization.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A quiet moment in the base, perhaps some healing and understanding for all of the team.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A huge thank you to DISTASTY... Read my muses works, seriously, guys... Distasty is an amazing writer!

Dimitri stirred in his sleep, a muffled whimper sounding from deep within his chest. Behind his closed lids, his eyes flicked restlessly back and forth. In his dream, he was in the clinic. Medic stood before him, the needle ready in his hand, the tourniquet tight around his bicep. Medic flicked the needle, removing the air bubbles that floated in the clear liquid. 

“Are you ready, Mein Fruend?” He leaned forward, the needle looming. 

“Yes.” Dimitri sighed, knowing what the man wanted to hear. “Please Doktor. Please give it to me?” He begged, wanting the heroin more than his pride. Besides, he reasoned, at this point, what pride did he have left?

“You know what I have to do, Heavy?” Medic sighed, looking down at the bigger man. “You have done poorly. You deliberately allowed me to die today.” He stepped closer to the gurney, reaching down to run his hand over the man’s bare chest. “You must be punished. Only then, can you have the heroin.” 

“I understand, Doktor.” Dimitri squinted his eyes closed, then rolled over. Only a little pain, then he would have what he needed to forget. He lay still as his wrists and ankles were restrained, allowing the Medic to feel safer. The linen sheet covering the gurney was cool beneath his cheek. He sighed, carefully blanking his mind as he heard the other man moving about behind him. 

The first few blows from the whip were not bad, he gritted his teeth and bore the pain. But then, Medic began to target the same areas, over and over again. Dimitri screamed, he simply opened his mouth and gave the man what he wanted. The screams came from him until his throat was raw, and finally, the lashing stopped. Dimitri lay still, the faint drip drip of his blood hitting the concrete a dim counterpoint to his harsh breathing. He hated this, hated the man doing this to him, and most of all, hated himself for allowing it to be done. Dimitri buried his face in his arm, well aware of what was going to happen next. 

“You are weak, Heavy. You are a coward.” The sound of a belt being undone. “You are a failure, an embarrassment to this team.” The sound of a zipper sliding down. “You can do nothing right and do not deserve the drugs I waste on you.” The soft rustle of cloth being slid down. “You are a fool. You lie still and take this, like the animal you are.” The feel of a hand on the back of his thigh, sliding upward, parting his blood drenched cheeks. The thought that at least, with all the blood, there would be some lubricant this time. “You are stupid. You are an imbecile. You deserve whatever I choose to give you.” Heavy prayed that it was not going to last too terribly long. Medic sounded worked up already, typically, a few moments of pain, and then the forgetfulness. 

He deliberately allowed his body to go limp, relaxing all of his muscles as he felt the hardness on the back of his thighs, nudging him open, pressing against him, the pain of entry, the blood only helping a bit. Dimitri began to weep. 

****

Dimitri sat upright suddenly, his fists flying outward, meeting empty air. Stifling a scream, he looked around the room, nothing out of place, no one coming to get him. He took deep breaths, his heart racing, trying to slow his panting. He closed his eyes, then slowly opened them again. Standing with a low groan, he walked into the small bathroom. If anyone had been watching, they would have thought it was an old man, stooped over, shuffling along, a hand bracing unsteady steps against the wall, a hand at the small of his back. 

Dimitri turned on the cold water in the sink and, not bothering with a washcloth, dipped his head under the faucet. He could feel his flesh shrinking from the icy wash of water through his short hair, but he did not pull back until he felt fully awake. Leaning back a bit, he cupped his hands under the tap, splashing chilly water onto his face, scrubbing the sleep and the dried residue of tears from the corners of his eyes. 

Straightening at last, he looked into the mirror. His eyes were haunted, his face pale. “When will you ever leave me alone?” He sighed, addressing the ghost that haunted him. “I have done nothing to deserve this. Please, I only want to sleep without the dreams.” His words echoed off the walls around him, leaving them hollow and empty. What would it sound like, he thought, if he were to scream? If he screamed, would he be able to stop screaming? Dimitri turned from the mirror and returned to his bed, checking the time. Four A.M. plenty of time to make breakfast for the team. With a final glance at his bed, he turned off the light and headed for the kitchen. 

Dimitri was checking the last of the bacon when he heard a noise behind him. It was not a loud noise, only the scuff of a boot on concrete, but he whirled around, the knife in his hand held at the ready. Standing in the doorway, staring at him, was the team’s Pyro. The dark haired boy glanced from the knife to the imposing man standing in front of the stove. 

“Bad dreams?” He approached slowly, hands held loosely to his sides. “It’s okay, Heavy. I’m not going to hurt you.” He looked pointedly at the blade. Dimitri followed his eyes downward, seeming to see the knife for the first time. 

“Oh. Sorry.” Half turning, he placed the knife on the counter. “I was slicing the bread for toast.” He sighed. “Yes. Bad dreams. How did you know?” 

“I have them too.” The Pyro gave him a lopsided smile. “I’m Shane. Pleased to meet you.” He cautiously extended his hand. 

Dimitri took the offered hand and shook it, suppressing a chuckle at the other’s formality. “Dimitri.” He turned back to the stove, flipping the bacon, reaching for the loaf of bread again. 

Shane walked behind him, to the refrigerator and, reaching inside, pulled out the milk. He poured a glass and sat down at the table. “My room is next to yours. I hear you sometimes.” He shrugged. “I don’t sleep much. Bad dreams.” He looked down into his glass, contemplating the white liquid within. “It’s not very often. But sometimes you scream in the night.” He looked back up at Dimitri. “Not loud.” With a sigh, he frowned. “I’m sorry. Christof says that I need to get better at talking to people. I didn’t mean to bring it up.” 

Dimitri turned back to the table, wiping his hands on a towel. “No, it’s fine, Shane.” He watched the other man, noting the way those sloped shoulders straightened, the tentative smile. “I don’t mind. I just hope that I don’t disturb you.” 

“Oh, no! You don’t! I mean, I worry about it, and sometimes I think about knocking on your door and checking on you, but I don’t. It would be weird, right? To check on you in the middle of the night?” He looked down at his glass again. “I’m doing it again, aren’t I? Being awkward, I mean?” 

Dimitri felt a smile spreading across his face. “Not at all, Shane. I think it is very kind of you to be concerned.” He was rewarded with a brilliant smile, one that seemed to make the dark haired boy’s brown eyes sparkle. “Do you like vanilla?” He watched the smile turn to a puzzled look.

“Vanilla?” The boy frowned. “I love it, why?” 

“Have you tried putting it into your milk?” Dimitri took the glass when Shane shook his head. Carefully, he measured a bit of vanilla and some sugar into the glass, then handed it back. Shane looked down at it, sniffed it, took a slow sip. He sighed, licked his lips and gulped at the contents of the glass. “That’s amazing! Where did you learn to make vanilla milk?” 

“My mother, when I was young, would give it to me when I had bad dreams. She heated the milk though, making it warm.” He smiled and poured himself a glass, fixing it like Shane’s. Sitting at the table, he looked steadily at the Pyro, trying to figure out how old he actually was. “You look young. I thought you would enjoy the milk.” With a shrug, he took a sip of his own. 

“I’m older than Eric. By three years.” He smiled again. “So, not that young.” He shrugged. “Plus, I’ve had a lot more happen to me than Eric. Hence, the nightmares.” He grinned suddenly. “But, I like Eric. He’s teaching me to skate!” 

Dimitri smothered his laughter. “Really? How is that going?” 

Another shrug. “Not too well. Eric says that you taught him?” His frown deepened. “Either Eric doesn’t listen or you don’t know how to skate either.” He looked up suddenly. “That was rude, wasn’t it?” Twirling the glass in his hands, he sighed. “Sometimes I think I’m thinking things, but they come out my mouth. Christof says that it’s okay, that it just means I don’t have a filter like other people.” He shook his head. “I asked him for a filter, he just laughed at me. I guess Mann Co. doesn’t make them.” 

Dimitri was watching him, trying to hide his laughter when he saw the others sly grin. “It was a joke?” He burst out laughing when Shane nodded, the corners of his lips curling up. 

“It was a joke.” He confirmed. “Would you make me another glass of milk?” He pushed his empty glass across the table and Dimitri took it, refilling both it and his own. “A teaspoon of sugar, a few drops of vanilla. You can remember that, right?” He handed the glass back to Shane.

“I can, but it tastes better when you make it.” Shane wrapped his hands around the glass, looking suddenly vulnerable. He stared down into it. “I dream about…” His voice trailed off, interrupted by a throat being cleared just inside the door. He and Dimitri both whipped around at the same time, staring at Christof. 

“Am I interrupting something?” Christof stepped into the room, looking at the two men sitting at the table, drinking milk. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t sleep. I thought that perhaps a glass of milk…” 

“You should try Dimitri’s milk!” Shane interrupted him quickly. “It’s the best milk ever.” He was grinning, he pushed the glass toward the doctor. “You can have a drink of mine, see if you like it. But I’m sure you will!” His smile broadened when Christof picked up the glass and sipped from it. 

“It is very good.” Christof handed the glass back. 

“I could make you some.” Dimitri volunteered. 

“Please?” Christof pulled out a chair and sat at the table, his hands clasping his pajama clad knee as he watched the two. “Did I interrupt your conversation? If so, I apologize. Please, don’t let me stand in the way.” 

Shane shook his head. “We both had bad dreams, Doc. We were just sitting here talking about them. It’s all good.” 

Christof nodded, glancing from one to the other. “Dreams. Yes.” He fell silent for a moment. “I understand.” He sighed and reached for the glass of milk that was placed in front of him, drinking deeply. His eyes closed, a faint smile gracing his lips. “Oh. That is good.” He smiled at Dimitri. “I thank you.” Christof leaned forward, crossing his hands on the table. “I have dreams also.” He shrugged, an oddly European gesture. “I don’t think anyone in this line of work is free of them, and if there is someone, I would be very afraid of that person. The dreams are how we deal with the horrors we see.” His gaze rested on Shane. “The dreams keep us human. You understand that, don’t you?” 

Shane looked down at his hands. “I understand, Doc. I just wish they would let up a little. You know?” He smiled, but the smile never touched the sadness in his eyes. “I get tired of reliving them.”

Christof nodded and, reaching out, lay his hand over the Pyro’s. “I understand.” He leaned back in his chair. ‘It’s getting late. Dimitri, I see that you have started breakfast. What help do you need in order to finish it?” Standing, he drained his milk and sat the glass back onto the table. “We could prepare a feast for the rest of the team. Would you like that, Shane?” At the Pyro’s nod, he and Dimitri returned to meal preparation, giving Shane tasks like chopping vegetables, things that didn’t involve flame. 

Christof finally managed to corner Dimitri in the pantry. “How did you get him to speak to you?” He frowned. “I was here for months and didn’t see him except for on the field. He’s incredibly shy.”

Dimitri shrugged. “I was between him and the refrigerator?” There was a questioning tone in his voice. “He just came in, got milk and started talking.” Dimitri shrugged. “This is the first time he’s talked to me, but I see him sometimes, leaving rooms when I enter. I had assumed that he feared me.”

“No more than any other person on the base. He’s a good kid, though.” Christof smiled and patted Dimitri on the forearm. “That he speaks to you says that he trusts you. That is high praise from him. Please, be careful. Sometimes that which seems the strongest is the most fragile.” Christof drew back, looking thoughtful at the implication behind those words and how they could relate to Dimitri’s own situation. He sighed. “We should get back out there.” 

The room was empty when they came out of the pantry, Shane’s glass of milk sitting on the table, a smiley face drawn in the condensation on the table. Christof sighed. “He’s taken a plate to his room to eat. He will be ready by time to field.” He glanced over at Dimitri. “I worry about him.” 

Dimitri nodded. “I’ll keep that in mind, Christof, if he decides to speak to me again.” Contemplating the things that could be keeping the others awake at night, he sat plates on the table, then silverware and cups. He’d thought for some time now that he alone was troubled by dreams. Knowing that there were others who slept poorly made him feel somehow less alone. He sighed, his mind playing over Christof’s words. “I fear the man who does not dream.” He thought back to his time on the last base, to the Medic there. He’d never seen the man wake in the night, never seen him look off kilter or affected by a poor night's sleep. Did Medic dream, he wondered.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spy finds something that makes him anxious and informs the others. A very short chapter, but a good set up for what is coming. Enjoy!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again to Distasty for inspiring me to continue with this.

Aubert was on the roof, watching the sun set. He’d come up here for the fresh air, feeling stifled and hot in the confines of the base. Antsy was what Jacob called it, an American euphemism that, for some reason, amused him. It described his mood earlier though, restless and pacing, almost as though his skin were indeed covered in the tiny insects. Leaning on the parapet, he looked out over the rolling hills and tall mountains and smiled to himself. The restlessness had fled when he’d entered open air. Often that was the way of it. If he didn’t have such firm control over himself, he would think that there was a touch of claustrophobia lurking in the back of his mind. Aubert snorted quietly in amusement. 

His mind strayed back, over the past few months, since he’d first picked up Dimitri at the train station to the present day, the stresses and angst he’d experienced, the rewards he had reaped. All had resulted from befriending a man that he’d been tasked with watching carefully. He sighed, taking a breath of the fresh evening air deep into his lungs, the smells of pine and moisture, green growing things and under those, the sharp tang of gunpowder and blood. He let the breath out, savoring the scents of this land he’d once found foreign but now called home. 

When Ms. Pauling had originally notified him that he would need to be at the train station to meet their new heavy, he’d been surprised to say the least. She’d asked him to keep an eye on the man, assess his behaviours to determine if he was a hazard to his teammates. He’d done his best, but he’d also attempted to guide the man toward some semblance of peace. After hearing his story, he’d felt a stirring of compassion deep in his chest. One had needed only to look at the way Dimitri carried himself to see that he was a beaten man. And then, as time passed on this base, with this team, the man had begun to emerge from his shell, bits and pieces of his former self showing, emerging gradually, like a turtle from the shell after a fright. 

He had, in the privacy of his own mind, often likened the heavies to turtles, massive and powerful, slowly moving across the field and annihilating anything in their way, but when they were not fighting, they were gentle, affectionate even, although nearly all of them had an innate dignity that seemed to come with bigger men who knew their worth. He shook his head, this habit of comparing team mates to animals must never be known to the men he worked with. 

He would never live it down if they knew, would be constantly bombarded by “Why this?” and “Why that?” questions. He grinned, trying to imagine having to explain some of his choices. Spy yawned, one hand covering his mouth, even though no one was around to see him. He should really be going, he thought, Dimitri would be looking for him soon enough. 

They had agreed to watch a movie with Shane tonight, a cartoon that the boy had ordered in the mail, and then an early bedtime. Aubert had little interest in cartoons, but Shane so seldom offered to socialize with the team that he would not say “No.” He smiled softly, his eyes on the glorious colors of the sunset. Shane had taken to Dimitri like a duck to water, often seeming to mother the huge mercenary, but also using him as a security blanket when feeling anxious. It was amusing to watch, and seemed to help both of them come to terms with their pasts and personalities. 

Sighing, Aubert pushed away from the parapet, walking toward the door that led from the roof to the base. He stopped suddenly, body going still in the cool evening air. Bending over, he studied a small white object. There was a cigarette butt laying on the roof, a brand that he was intimately familiar with. The enemy spy had been up here at some point. Aubert sucked in a breath and stood slowly, eyes taking in the rooftop, the desert beyond, looking for some sign of his enemy. Seeing nothing, he went inside. 

****

Dimitri yawned and stretched, brushing a few stray kernels of popcorn from his shirt. Shane had been the perfect host, providing all the right movie accoutrements, popcorn, sodas, and a large bowl full of juju beans for their movie night. The movie hadn’t been bad either, something about a huge robot who befriends a small child and saves the world from alien invaders. Dimitri grinned, wondering if Shane saw himself as the young boy, perhaps pictured Dimitri as the giant robot. It would explain so much, he thought, including the boy’s desire to be near him after the sharing of dreams. 

He glanced over at Aubert, walking down the hallway at his side. Reaching out, he let his fingers brush over the Spy’s and was rewarded with a hand clasp and a sudden, startled smile. 

“I’m horrible company tonight, aren’t I?” Aubert’s tone was apologetic but he still seemed half lost in thought. 

“It’s not a problem. I thought perhaps you do not like children’s movies?” Dimitri’s smile widened. “And you are always good company, Aubert. But tonight you seem distracted. What is bothering you?” 

Aubert sighed. “I’m not certain, Dimitri.” He paused outside the door to his room, hand on the knob. “I need some time to think this through, before I say anything.” He smiled. “But if you would like to come inside, you could distract me for a moment, or perhaps a half hour or so?” The smile broadened, his hand resting on Dimitri’s lapel, tracing over it with one finger. “Then perhaps some sleep? And I’m certain that when I wake up tomorrow, all will seem clearer.” He swung the door inward and beckoned with one finger. “What do you say, my lover? Yes, or yes?” 

Chuckling, Dimitri followed him inside, taking a brief moment to whisper a thank you to whatever gods might be listening. He did not think he would have survived the past few months without Aubert’s steadying influence and overtures of friendship. The next half hour passed quickly, clothing littering every surface in the room as the two stripped in haste and made love swiftly, aware that morning would come sooner than either of them wished. 

When Dimitri returned to his own room, he wondered if Aubert would actually sleep or if he would still be staring pensively out the window when the sun rose over the land. He’d left the man, sated and exhausted, but still sitting on the small chair by the window, chin in hand, thinking hard. Dimitri sighed. Whatever was going on with Aubert, he would speak about it when he was ready. Dimitri had learned not to push. Settling into his own bed, he quickly fell asleep. There were no dreams to disturb him that night. 

***

When morning came, Aubert stirred from his spot by the window, then rose and stretched. He dressed slowly, paying special attention to his appearance today. The crisply laundered shirt, followed by the suit jacket, then mask and gloves, these were his armour. He knew that he was concentrating on his outfit to distract himself from the turmoil within his mind. With a quick sigh, he looked himself over in the mirror, decided that his lapels were indeed correct, and stepped into the hallway. Going quickly to the clinic, he found Christof and Jacob, sitting at a table in the corner and talking quietly to each other.

Aubert pulled a chair up to the table and sat, looking from one to the other. “Gentlemen, good morning.” He tried for a smile, unsure if he’d achieved the desired effect or simply grimaced at them. After their greetings, he quickly filled them in on his find the evening before. “I suspect that our base has been infiltrated. I don’t know why, or what he could possibly hope to accomplish, but he has definitely been here.” There was worry in his voice, he was unable to hide the concern, bordering irrationally on outright fear. 

Jacob spoke while Christof was still processing the news. “And you’re sure of this, Aubert. I mean, not doubting you found the butt, but do you really think he’s been in and out of our base? What the hell could he be planning? I mean, I know that spies like to gather information, but what could he possibly be up to that has you this worried?” He sighed. “No offense meant, of course.” 

Aubert offered a tight lipped smile. “I cannot shake this feeling of dread, Jacob. I don’t understand it, but it is there. Like a sword hanging over my head, waiting to fall.” He took a deep breath and held it for a second, before slowly breathing out again. “I don’t understand why, but when I saw the cigarette butt, I felt like things were about to change, and change horribly. Perhaps I’m wrong about this, but I am…” He paused, searching for the word he wanted, “shaken.” 

Christof reached across the table and patted his hand. “I’m sure we can figure this out, Aubert. We shall alert the team, let them know to keep an eye open for whatever is happening with the BLU Spy. We can search the base, see if we can find more evidence of what he was doing here.” 

Aubert offered a tight lipped smile. “Thank you both. I hope that this is nothing, but…” He frowned. “I feel as though we’ve been violated. I don’t feel safe here anymore.” He shook his head. “I suppose this is what a burgled person must feel like? But it seems like this is more than just feeling violated. I don’t know how to explain…” He trailed off, going quiet.

“It will work out for the best, Aubert. I promise.” Christof sighed and stood, stretching so that his vertebrae cracked and popped. “But first, breakfast. That will be a good time to broach this topic.” He smiled, confidence returning. “We don’t fight today, this will be a good time to go through the base with a fine toothed comb. With all of us searching, it should not take long to figure this out.” 

Aubert sighed in relief and stood. “I think this is a good plan. I will go collect Dimitri and meet you both at the breakfast table.” He glanced at his watch. “Everyone should be awake by now. Except Seamus. I’ll collect him also.” He stood, intent on his task, and left the room.

When Aubert had closed the door behind him, Jacob turned to look at Christof. Taking one hand in his own calloused one, he brought it to his lips. “I love that you offered to spend our day off helping him. Do you think we’ll find anything?” He smiled warmly at the doctor. One of the first things that had attracted him to Christof was his selflessness. Covering the other’s hand with his own, he waited for the answer. 

Christof sighed. “I don’t know. To be honest, I hope we find nothing. I hope this entire thing has been a huge mistake and someone simply tracked a butt to the roof on their shoe. However, I fear that will not be the case.” He turned his hand in Jacob’s grip, clasping their hands palm to palm. “I don’t know what the Spy would think to gain and that is what bothers me the most. If he was here, it was not simply to watch us sleep. He is plotting something, and with that Spy, it will undoubtedly be bad.” 

Jacob nodded. “Yeah, that one has a talent for mischief.” He shook his head. “I reckon we’d better get to the breakfast table and fill everybody in on this.” With a final squeeze of Christof’s hand, he stood up and started for the door, waiting for the doctor to follow. Together, walking just closely enough for their shoulders to brush, they went to face the team.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> BLU Spy's plot is revealed and his reasons for plotting against RED. The sins of Dimitri's past return to haunt him. Aubert finally says "I love you." Dimitri makes a horrible and permanent mistake, thinking that he is helping.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OMG, I cried writing this one... Thank you so much to Distasty for being my beta and support during this! There is a major character death in this chapter, a permanent death as well as some pretty gruesome descriptions.

The search was unsuccessful. The base was scoured, top to bottom, and no signs of the enemy Spy were found. Not a footprint, not another cigarette butt, nothing. Instead of being relieved, Aubert sank deeper into despondency. He couldn’t shake the trepidation from his core, often waking in the night and roaming the halls of the base, patrolling as it were, to see if he could find any signs of the enemy. 

Christof and Jacob tried to console Aubert, hoping the hard lines of anxiety would go from the corners of his mouth, his eyes would crinkle with laughter again, but to no avail. He did not want to be a doomsayer, but part of him wanted to shout at his team, tell them to keep their guard up, to help him, damn it, just help him figure out what the BLU Spy was after. 

Dimitri smiled when he was in Aubert’s sight but as soon as he turned away, Dimitri’s face became drawn into hard lines as he watched his lover being eaten by the dread that seemed to have settled over him like a pall. He began to do small things for Aubert, a flower plucked from the field and left in the Spy’s locker, a backrub when watching television, telling him jokes that Dimitri found amusing. The hard lines remained despite Aubert’s pretending to smile, pretending to relax. Dimitri knew that it was not helping, but like Aubert, he pretended that all was well. 

Aubert tried to tell himself that the feeling of dread in his chest was nothing, simply a reaction to having his territory violated. He went through his day, pretending to be relaxed and hoping that eventually he himself would believe the lie. However, he could not shake the feeling that had overcome him with the discovery of the cigarette butt. 

In their downtime, he racked his brain, trying to put himself in BLU spy’s brain, trying to figure out what the man had been doing in their base, but he couldn’t make heads or tails of it. There was no logical explanation for it. He tried to bury the guilt that he felt over his anxiety, knowing that it was affecting his entire team, and especially Dimitri. The big man was beside himself, going out of his way to be jovial and social, leaving gifts and trinkets where Aubert would find them, trying to convince him that everything was fine. On the field, Dimitri was a beast, he and Shane had sent the BLU spy through respawn so many times that the other had to feel he was going through a revolving door. 

Aubert knew they were trying, in their own way, to protect him and cheer him, but nothing seemed to help. He was tense, jumping at shadows, the rest of the team had learned to make noise when they walked, to not sneak up on him lest he whirl around, startled, a knife in his hand. He’d taken to keeping the knife nearby at all times, even going so far as to hide it under his pillow when he and Dimitri made love. 

When the knife had fallen to the floor one night, Dimitri had simply picked it up and placed it in his hand, the look in his eyes bleak, wounded, as though he thought Aubert feared him. This had led to stuttered apologies and Aubert attempting to explain himself. Dimitri had smiled and nodded and pretended understanding, but had grown more wary of his actions. He no longer approached Aubert from behind, no hand on the shoulder in battle. He restrained his voice, keeping his demeanor calm. Aubert sighed deeply, the knowledge that this was affecting his relationship causing him to spiral even further down into anxiety and depression. 

****

The day that Aubert finally caught BLU sneaking across the field, a large package under his arm, headed for their base, he could feel the seed of fear in his chest blossom, growing larger and larger as he followed the other man. BLU threaded his way across the battlefield, moving carefully, ignoring the backs that were unintentionally presented to him. 

Aubert followed, his dread fading to curiosity as he watched his counterpart. He stayed far enough back that he would not be seen, but close enough that he would not lose the other Spy. As they wound their way past the battle, it occurred to Aubert that the other was picking the most direct route to his own base. He sucked in a breath through his nose, a startled hiss as he observed the other more closely. He was so far behind their lines now that he couldn’t signal the rest of his team without giving himself away and spoiling his chances of finding out what the other spy had planned. 

As the large doors of the base loomed in front of them, he frowned, watching as the enemy spy ducked inside, then he swiftly followed. They passed by the respawn room, the enemy pausing only for a brief moment. He shook his head, seeming almost to regret a lost opportunity as Christof came charging through the doors, looking neither left nor right as he ran back to the field. Aubert wondered to himself how many times the BLU Spy had lurked outside their respawn, passing up targets and opportunities. 

The man, disguised as Eric now, simply turned his head and watched as Christof shouted something to him then ran onto the field again. His hand went to his pocket, playing briefly with the knife hidden there as Christof’s back disappeared into the bright light of day. He turned then, wending his way further into the base. Aubert, cloaked and hanging back, remained in the shadows, watching.

He racked his brain as they travelled deeper into the base, unsure what the other man was planning, trying to remember what was down the dusty corridor they now travelled. He frowned, the only thing he could think of that would be a target of value was their respawn machine, the huge bank of computers that tracked the mercenaries and retained their genetic imprints, allowing them to be returned to life upon their deaths on the field. 

Aubert frowned suddenly, appalled. That could not be this man’s target, could it? Surely not even he would be so desperate to win that he’d tamper with the equipment that kept them alive? He frowned, his mind working quickly as he took in the man’s demeanor, his destination, the large package he still carried under his arm. Suddenly a look of horrified understanding passed over his face. It was a bomb! That was the only thing that made sense. 

Aubert recoiled in horror, certain that he knew what the BLU Spy was planning. He hissed between his teeth as the other flicked on the comm link in his ear. “I’m in position. Give me three to plant the bomb, then take out the Heavy.” Aubert’s eyes widened in horror as he overheard the conversation, the staticky hiss of affirmation on the other end of the open comm. They were planning on killing Dimitri. Permanently. He slid slowly closer, keeping his footsteps silent even as the other man turned his back and began wiring the bomb into their respawn computers. 

Aubert was nearly within range for a silent strike when the BLU Spy spoke. “I can hear you breathing. I assume you are the RED Spy, my counterpart.” 

There was a momentary twitch between the other man’s shoulder blades. Aubert pulled his dagger, lunging forward, only to be met with a hard fist to his face. 

The BLU spy loomed over him as he staggered backward. “Two more minutes, RED, and then we shall all be rid of that abomination you call a Heavy.” 

He sagged back on the floor, momentarily dazed, as the BLU Spy spoke again. “You don’t know the monster you have on your team.” He frowned. “The monster that abused my son, made his life a living hell.” BLU Spy stepped closer, his eyes narrowing. “I’ve waited a long time for this revenge. Ever since I found out what was happening on that team, I’ve been plotting this.” He stepped closer, a blade seeming to materialize in his hand. “You shall not take my vengeance from me.” 

Aubert closed his eyes and said a quick prayer. 

***

Dimitri waded across the field, eyes on the point, Christof trailing behind him like a Remora in the wake of a shark. He pushed forward, the constant spinning of his gun sending a humming tickle through his hands, numbing them. When this push was over, he would be hard pressed to uncurl his fingers from the hand grips, his muscles stiff and clenched from the force of his hold. He tried not to think of the cramps that would follow, just as they did every day, the stiff muscles attempting to relax after being held in the same position for so long. 

Dimitri’s lips pulled back from his teeth, a savage snarl sweeping over his face as he contemplated the best path to the point. Savage calculation told him that the less well defended right side of the point would be easiest to take. It also said that the path could have been left clear in that direction in order to allow their demo to set a trap to send him and Christof to respawn together. However, given the opposition on the left side, the right seemed worth taking the risk. He swung his heavy gun, the gesture a signal to Christof, letting him know what direction they would be going in. 

Dimitri advanced slowly, his arms beginning to ache as he approached the point. He surveyed the walls of buildings and the ground carefully, looking for traps. His head swung up suddenly, eyes drawn to a bright flash in a building farther from the field. His brain quickly identified the flash, sun flaring off the lens of a rifle. The enemy Sniper, he thought, dodging quickly to the side. He heard the sharp snap of a rifle over the battle, a bullet flying so close to his ear that he could hear the buzzing of its passing. He barely had time to turn, motioning for Christof to duck, when a sudden pain, like a supernova of a migraine, followed him into the blackness of death. Christof watched, eyes wide, his hand to his ear as the frantic voice of Aubert came over his comm. 

****

Aubert managed to raise his arm, blocking the knife strike as the BLU Spy slashed downward at him. He rolled, one hand going to his comm link, screaming into it. “They have a bomb! They are going to destroy respawn! They plan to kill Dimitri!” He rolled again, stumbled to his feet and charged BLU Spy, determined to prevent what was about to happen. 

His limbs tangled with the BLU Spy’s, his hand grasping the hand that held the knife. The two men rolled on the floor, lost in their own savage battle, each trying to gain control of the blade and end the other. Aubert hissed as the wound on his arm burned, the struggle ripping the flesh there, the wound that BLU Spy had opened at the battle’s start growing larger and bleeding more freely as they struggled. 

Their hands were slippery, Aubert’s blood coating them both, lubricating the knife’s grip and suddenly causing it to slip from BLU Spy’s hand and go spinning across the floor. Seeing his opportunity, Aubert wrapped both hands around the other man’s throat, squeezing tightly even as he brought his forehead forward, slamming it into BLU’s nose. The sudden gout of blood that exploded from BLU Spy’s nose told him that his strike had been true. The man relaxed under his hands, the combined throttling and head blow incapacitating him momentarily. Aubert let go of the man’s throat, lunging for the bomb, the wires that connected it to the respawn computers. He could feel the cold metal under his fingers, only to be replaced by intense heat. The shock of the bomb going off blew him backward in a sudden gust of fire, his back striking the wall ten feet behind him with a shock like a hammer blow. Everything hurt. 

Aubert put one hand out, pulling himself up the wall and to his feet. It took him a moment to realize what had happened, he thought at first that he was wrapped in some sort of pink and white paper, until the realization that it was his own flesh, hanging in tatters, struck him. He tried not to look at his hand, the flesh clinging to it in shreds, bubbled blisters rising from the heat of the bomb blast. 

Slowly, Aubert reached up with his free hand, fingers curling and grasping at the strips of cooked flesh hanging down, the heat from the blast having twisted and melted his flesh. As though his brain had been waiting for him to realize the extent of the damage before surprising him yet again, the pain struck him now, waves of agony wracking him, causing him to shudder and groan. He moaned, his throat hurt and his face was burning as though he’d been in the sun far too long “Dimitri.” His voice was a croak, his throat raw and scorched. Turning from the body of the BLU Spy, he staggered down the hallway toward respawn.

***

Dimitri lay on the floor of respawn, his head felt like it was about to split open. Sometimes respawning was rougher than others, but this one seemed to be the mother of all bad spawns. He groaned and rolled over, pushing himself to his feet and staggering to the doors. He took a deep, heaving breath and vomited all over the floor, the urge undeniable in its strength. Staggering to the door, he leaned on it, head pressed to the cool tile of the wall. He sniffed suddenly, the smell of smoke reaching his nostrils. Dimitri frowned, watching as small puffs of fragrant grey smoke made their way past him. It smelled like charred electronics and bacon, he decided, confused now. 

As he stood there, trying to recover, he heard footsteps dragging along the corridor. He turned and, holding onto the wall to shore up his balance, started toward the footsteps. He stopped suddenly, frozen in horror as Aubert appeared, staggering out of the darkness. He assumed it was Aubert, it wore Aubert’s clothes but the man in front of him was a ragged mass of raw, weeping flesh, the smell of bacon oddly seeming to increase as the wounded man drew himself closer. 

Dimitri broke out of the shock that had held him frozen, staring, and started forward again. He could hear himself screaming, but didn’t remember opening his mouth to make those horrid sounds. He stopped, catching Aubert just as the other man fell, drawing him in close and sinking to his knees, cradling him. 

Aubert’s one good eye opened, staring at Dimitri, the pupil wide and wild. The remains of Aubert’s blistered lips opened, one side of his mouth just gone, revealing gleaming white teeth streaked with blood. A hand, more bone than flesh, gripped at Dimitri’s shirt collar. “L...Love… you….” The words were faint, so faint that Dimitri could barely hear them. “Oh, Aubert…” He gasped out, holding the other man close. “I love you too.” Slowly, he lowered the wheezing shuddering flesh of his lover to the floor, then unholstered the shotgun from his back. “I love you. Let me fix this, дорогой.” Leaning back, he placed the gun to the tattered flesh of Aubert’s temple and pulled the trigger. Dimitri buried his face in his hands, weeping even as he got to his feet and headed back to respawn to wait for his lovers return. 

Down the hall, his ears registered running footsteps, the sound of Christof’s shouting. He did not turn from his goal, his eyes on the respawn room, his massive shoulders hunched as he tried to erase the memory of Aubert’s shattered face from his mind.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An end to the saga, with Dimitri being devoured by his past and reacting like the tragic character we all know him to be...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to Distasty for sticking with me through this process. We were talking a few days ago, and this series has taken nearly a year to complete. True dedication, my friend... This has probably been the most difficult story I've ever written, and the darkest in many ways, but I feel like it's one of my best. I may be wrong about that, but I do love my tragic Russian. I hope that you have all enjoyed reading this as much as I've enjoyed writing it.

Dimitri had completely lost control when he’d gone back into the respawn room to wait for Aubert after shooting him. He’d been sitting on the flat bench, staring down at the tiles, waiting, even then a feeling of dread twisting in his stomach, eating at him like a rat. 

When Christof had come inside, sat down beside him and begun to speak, tears started to trickle down his cheeks. The Medic kept his voice low, almost as though trying to soothe a wounded animal, and as Dimitri had half listened, the words had begun to sink in. No Respawn. No Aubert. He’d begun to keen then, a low wail that was felt more than heard, a sound of such unmitigated sorrow that it sent chills down Christof’s spine. 

When Dimitri slid from the bench, head bowed, face hidden in his hands, Christof slid down beside him, one arm wrapping around the big man’s shoulder, attempting to comfort him. He held Dimitri like this for what felt like forever. He was beyond surprised when the big man turned to him, face flushed and hot, eyes red from crying, and begged to be sedated. Christof complied.

Dimitri was floating. He had been screaming, calling out Aubert’s name in a howling sorrow that encompassed his entire being when he’d finally understood what the others were telling him, that respawn was down, that he’d permanently killed the one man he’d ever loved. Even in his drug induced stupor, he groaned in agony, his cheeks wet with tears. He could feel the anger growing, keeping pace with the overwhelming sorrow, the Aubert shaped hole in his being. He moaned and rolled to the side, glad that he was not tied down, that they hadn’t restrained him this time.

Dimitri was floating. He lay still, staring at the white ceiling of Christof’s clinic, his eyes tracing shapes in the ancient rust colored water stains. He felt removed from the world around him, Christof had slipped a needle in his arm, he’d allowed it this time, and he had floated then, his screaming sorrow and the agony of Aubert’s death a thing apart from him. He could vaguely hear the others talking, Christof and Jacob watching over him, holding his hands, speaking to him in low soothing voices. He fought his way through the drug induced fog that engulfed his mind, then realizing that Aubert would not be there to welcome him home, he sank back into the darkness. 

***

Dimitri woke to darkness. He lay still for a moment, his eyes wide in the gloom of the clinic. The single lamp still burning on Christof’s desk was not enough to illuminate the darker corners, and in those corners, monsters lurked. Dimitri sat up slowly on the narrow bed, twitching the thin blanket aside and peering down at himself. He still wore his clothing from the battle, bloodstained khakis and a t- shirt that was stretched tight across his chest, the thin red cotton straining at the seams. He put a hand to his forehead, his eyes trying to pick out the stains of Aubert’s blood from among the myriad other stains that covered him. 

He did not look up when he heard the sound of a cloaking device in the corner. He simply sat, watching his own feet swing back and forth, feeling like a lost child in the too high bed. When the Spy’s wing tipped shoes entered his field of vision, he looked up at last, frowning in the dim light. He sighed, his breath leaving him like a winter wind. “Why?” 

The Spy stood quietly for a moment more, then reached slowly into the breast pocket of his dark blue suit jacket, pulling out a faded photo. A woman, holding a small boy in her arms, the background blurred and indistinct but hinting of green, growing things. “My son.” His voice was reverent as he held the picture closer to Dimitri’s face. 

Dimitri looked up at the masked man standing before him, then returned his gaze to the photo. “I don’t understand.” 

“Look closer, branleur. Do you not recognize the smile? You should, as you were so instrumental in removing it from his face.” The Spy shoved the picture closer to Dimitri’s face and he peered at it, looking more carefully now. There was something about it, the sandy haired boy staring into the camera with a cheery smile, showing those tiny buck teeth, eyes wide and innocent. Suddenly, Dimitri sucked in a breath and leaned back as though physically struck. “Scout…” the word left him in a faint whisper. He looked to the Spy, his chest tightening. “He is your son?” 

“Was my son.” The Spy shifted, his chest puffing out angrily, aggression in his every movement. “Soon after you were transferred, he ended his life. And yet, here you sit, still drawing breath. How is that possible, Dimitri?” He sneered the name, his lips curled into a savage snarl. “How can you live while he died. Truly, you kill everything you touch.” The Spy peered down at him. “Just like Aubert. If you had not come here, he would still be alive. And yet, you are the one sitting before me and he is gone forever.” His grin was cold and terrible. “Aubert cared deeply for you. I could see it in the way he acted toward you. You killed him, though, didn’t you?” The Spy circled the man sitting on the bed, restless and angry, unable to stay still. “And now, here you sit before me, while they are both in the grave.”

Dimitri raised his head then, his eyes wet with tears. “What I did was wrong, and I know that. I have hated myself for that. I thought that I found absolution with Aubert, a measure of peace, but you have taken that also.” He shook his head. “I am truly sorry for your son’s death. Kill me, now. Take your revenge and end this.” He sat quietly, waiting, like a lamb being led to the slaughter.

The Spy reeled back, pretending shock at the words. “Surely you are teasing, Dimitri.” He grinned, the hard lines of his face contorted into something monstrous by the shadows in the dim room. “I had planned to kill you. My team was going to help me. But this,” he chuckled and waved his hand laconically at the man in front of him, “This is so much more fitting, don’t you think? You have taken something I love, and in return, I have taken something you love.” His head tilted to the side considering. “Although I admit, you did all the work on this.” He shook his head. “I will not kill you. I like seeing you like this, broken, offering your throat to me. It amuses me, Dimitri. And so, I will bid you Adieu, monster.” With those words, he disappeared in a swirl of mist. Dimitri heard his footsteps cross the room, watched the door open and close as the invisible Spy exited the base. Dropping his head, he wept again. 

***

When morning came, Dimitri was staring out the window, his eyes dry, his heart aching. He turned from the window as Jacob came toward him, his boots clicking faintly on the tiled floor. “Hey there, big guy.” He tried to keep his tone light. “I brought you some breakfast.” He sat the tray down, the smells of bacon and biscuits covering the light scents of pine and disinfectant in the room. 

Dimitri tried to smile, feeling like it was more a grimace than anything, but he appreciated the other’s effort to care for him. “Thank you, Jacob. I’m sorry, I am not hungry.” He idly poked at a strip of bacon, pushing the edge back onto the plate. 

Jacob nodded and sat down on a chair near him. “I sort of figured you would say that, but I wanted to bring it anyway, just in case.” He sighed. “I can’t even begin to imagine how you feel, Dimitri, but I want you to know that we’re here for you if you need anything.” He shifted slightly on the hard wooden chair. 

Dimitri turned back to the window, staring out. “Why would you do that, Jacob? I do not deserve your help.” His voice was bleak, emotionless.

“Because we’re family, Dimitri, and that’s what you do for family.” There was no guile in his voice, only a simple statement of facts, the way he saw the world. 

Dimitri gulped in air, fighting the tears once more. 

***

Over the next few weeks, Dimitri fought. He strode out onto the field every morning, even though he wanted nothing more than to curl up on his bed and sleep. He bit back his gorge every time blood sprayed, reminded of the way Aubert’s blood had sprayed when he’d shot him. He staggered off the field each evening, exhausted and dropped into bed, seeking only to sleep. And the entire time, he waged a battle that no one else could understand. He could feel himself slipping, the world dropping out from under him, the siren song of his past calling him home. At last, he could no longer resist. 

There was a two day pause in the fighting, and Dimitri seized the opportunity. Driving Aubert’s car, he took the three hour trip to the nearest large city and spent the day hunting for what he needed, finding it at last in a grimy bathroom in a dirty bar on a street where anyone not his size and strength would be obliged to walk with a gun. Dimitri carried no gun, only rolled up wads of cash in his pocket. 

He took the drugs from the small man, tattooed hand holding peace and forgetfulness out to him, a greasy smile on his face at the sight of the money. Dimitri didn’t even try to bargain, simply bought what he needed to get through the next month, then left with a small backpack and a phone number. He felt relief soaring through him as he leaned back against Aubert’s fine leather seats and tightened his belt around his arm, holding the end in his mouth. He grunted as the needle slipped beneath his skin, finding the vein easily and injecting himself with liquid bliss. Dimitri sighed in relief, the belt loosening, and leaned his head back against the seat, allowing his body to relax for the first time since Aubert’s death. 

The drive back to base passed in a blur of good feelings and warm fuzzy emotions. By the time he pulled into the garage though, the hard edges of his world were starting to show so he went to his room, pulled up his sleeve, and shot up again. His sleep that night was deep and dreamless, exactly what he’d been wanting. When morning came, he groaned and slapped at the buzzing alarm clock on his nightstand, eventually turning it off and staggering from the bed and into the bathroom. One look in the mirror over the small hand sink and he was groaning as he smoothed down his hair. Opening the medicine cabinet behind the mirror, he grabbed his needle and spoon, then sat down on the toilet to get ready for the day’s fight. 

***

When Ms. Pauling drove her sleek black car onto base nearly four weeks later, no one was surprised. Christof met her at the gate, trying very hard to hide his fear behind an air of surprised nonchalance. There was another woman with her, a tall redhead with curious scars covering her face and arms. The two stood in the common room, listening patiently as Christof ran on about their visit being a surprise, offering them food and drinks and the other trappings of hospitality that he knew they would turn down. Ms. Pauling did not do social visits. 

At last the leggy redhead stepped in front of Ms. Pauling, a cold smile on her face. “We’re actually here to see your Heavy. Would you please tell me where he is?” Her hand dropped to rest on the hilt of her pistol. “We need to have a conversation with him.” 

Christof shook his head, unsure what to say. He shook his head slightly. “You are aware perhaps that our Heavy is suffering from a loss? He is grieving and I would, as his Medic, prefer that he not be disturbed.” He cleared his throat, unsettled by the look he was given.

The red head stepped closer, her eyes narrowing. “I didn’t ask for your medical opinion. Either you can take us to him, you can move, or we can move you.” A decidedly unfriendly grin spread across her face. “I don’t care which of the three you choose, but we are going to speak with him, one way or the other.” 

Christof looked past the brash woman to Ms. Pauling, who only shook her head in warning. Taking a deep breath, Christof managed to say, “Follow me.” He turned sharply and led the women through the base. Eric came running up, having heard that Ms. Pauling was on site, but he took one look at the two women stalking behind Christof and turned away. Christof muttered under his breath about cowardice but quickly silenced himself when he looked over his shoulder at the hostile faces following him. He paused outside Dimitri’s door, then shook his head once more. Rapping sharply, he shouted, “Dimitri, you have company.” before backing slowly away. 

Dimitri opened the door and stared blearily down at the two women. Finally he smiled sadly. “Ms. Pauling.” His eyes lit on the second woman and stopped briefly, a frown crossing his face before he broke into a welcoming smile. “Pyro.” He stepped back, motioning them inside, then addressed Ms. Pauling. “I’ve been expecting you.” 

Walking to the chair by the table, he sat heavily in it, ignoring the creaking of the furniture. He’d lost weight in the past few weeks, and his clothing hung from his large frame. His works were laid out on the table, along with a standard issue Mann Co candle, now burnt down to an inch high stub. He gestured to the bed, rumpled and unmade, smelling of sour sweat. “Let me just do this one last time, then we can go.”

Ms. Pauling frowned at the bed, but Pyro walked over and sat down, ignoring the state of the filthy bedding. “What happened, Heavy?” Her voice was soft, seeking an explanation. “You seemed like you were doing so good.” She sighed unhappily. “I was proud of you. And now, this?” She swept a hand around in a gesture that encompassed the room. “What the hell?”   
Dimitri shrugged and looked at her, then down at the spoon he was holding over the candle flame. “You should know, of all people, that there are ghosts, Pyro. A ghost found me. The ghost of my past is vengeful.” He shrugged. “I’m tired of living with the ghosts, but I don’t have the courage to die. I ask for your help.” He sighed, looking from the golden brown liquid to Pyro. “Will you do what needs to be done?” He smiled in relief when she nodded sadly, her eyes starting to glisten wetly. 

Sitting the spoon down carefully, he stood and walked over to her, his hand cupping her cheek. “Do not cry, маленький светлячок. My little firefly, you have always been a spark of hope in the darkness. I’m sorry to ask you this, but you must free me one last time.” He turned from her then, a sad smile on his face. “We have come full circle, haven’t we? I will be only a moment more, I promise.” He tightened the belt around his arm as she wiped at her cheeks, trying to compose herself. At last, a blissful sigh escaped him and he turned to them. “I’m ready now.” 

Leading the way, he walked through the base, stopping to hug Christof and Jacob, then Eric, kissing them all on the cheek, before pulling away. He was outside, hand on the car door when a frantic shout stopped him. Dimitri turned to see Shane running full out, his face a mask of horror, his eyes wide and angry. He turned and caught the boy in his arms, pulling him close and holding him tightly, the tears coming then. 

“Dimitri, don’t go… Who’s gonna make my vanilla milk when I have the bad dreams?” The Pyro was sobbing, loud and ugly, his words a drawn out wail. Dimitri engulfed him completely, face buried in his haystack hair, then looked up at where Christof was trailing after the boy. “Hush now, Christof knows how to make the milk. I taught him.” He pulled back and looked down at the tear streaked face. “It will be okay, Shane. You have my word.” He smiled softly and wiped at the stray strands of hair stuck to the boy's face, plastered to his skin with tears and sweat. He stepped back and gently pushed Shane into Christof’s waiting arms. He sighed then, folding his large frame into the back of the car and turning to wave at the men standing forlornly in the driveway as Ms. Pauling started the engine and they pulled away. Leaning his head back against the car’s soft seat, he closed his eyes and let the heroin take him under.

***

When Pyro shook him awake, he climbed out of the car and looked around. The desert surrounded them, the sun starting to tint the sky pink in the east. A gaping hole stretched out in front of him, dirt piled around the edges. Pyro smiled at him. “We let you sleep, you looked like you needed it.” 

He nodded and stared at the sunrise, then looked around. The grave was on a hillside, he could see for miles across the flat desert landscape. He smiled and stepped into the hole, then stretched out. “It’s a good place. Roomy, comfortable. You’ve done a good job, my friend.” 

She nodded and stepped into the hole with him, laying down beside him. “You deserve a place you can stretch out.” She smiled sadly at him, then wrapped her arms around his huge frame. He curled into her, seeking comfort. “Pyro, I am afraid.” He whispered suddenly.

Pyro tilted his face up, staring down at him. “Look at me, only at me.” She smiled through the tears streaking her face. “I am all that matters now.” When his eyes focused on hers, she could see that he remembered those words, last spoken as he comforted her. She leaned forward and placed a gentle kiss on his forehead. Moving slightly, she slipped her pistol under his chin. “I’m so sorry, Dima.” she whispered as she pulled the trigger.

**Author's Note:**

> Remember, for every kudo, a baby Pyro receives it's first lighter. Support baby Pyro's everywhere.


End file.
